SOULS AND GRAVES

The colors of their faces,
The tears that they shed.
The writing on the walls,
Their parents nearly dead. 
They sleep with their eyes open,
They cry with their eyes closed.
They pray without god’s presence, 
And without a soul to hold.
Who will cover their wounded faces, so that their young-ones won’t be afraid?
Who will notice the children’s’ shattering faces, when they stand near their parent’s unmarked grave?
God’s presence is nowhere, so the children don’t believe. 
THEY LISTEN TO EACH OTHER’S STORIES OF WOUNDED SOULS AND GRAVE. 
They speak, in a low voice, as though their spirit was drained away.
A piece of their heart is missing,
It’s rotting out there to decay. 
They step out into the light,
To see the tyranny of their acts.
They notice each other’s fright,
Now their just a fact.
They are left with no words, only the horrors of their past.
The slaughter, the rape, the torture.
That the Sudanese government had cast.
It is written upon their faces,
Through scars and through tears.
Now all the genocide cases,
Won’t compare to this modern year’s.
They walk upon the Darfur ground.
To visit their once-upon- a-time homes.
To search for a quiver, to search for a sound.
To look upon the distance.
To search for the bodies never found…
They will never forget.
They can forgive.
But the people who have died.
Will never relive.
So that questions their motives.
And what they want to do,
To try and be peaceful.
Or to become one of the few…
To rise against the many.
And to do the same. 
To take the life of any. 
To start a new game.
But they don’t need to kill.
They only want to be free.
To make life still.
To make them want to see.
But {they} are just tyrants of war and of politics.
That set people apart.
Just by their statistics. 
The little girl can’t find her mother.
And the young boy has no brother.
But now they can unite.
To join 
And to fight.
To rise.
So that they can fall.
Once again.
Once and for all.