A spade scoop of mud, a twisted swollen hand
reveals – of man or woman who knows
another scoop and another tender hand
appears – a child’s
perhaps?
Patches of white where putrid flesh crumbs
had stripped off into the erasing earth.
Spades hesitating a moment to reveal more
outstretched hands of soul-bodies buried
reaching out for that last whiff of life
shortened with a slash, a cortex shatter
or bloody bursts puncturing vital body parts
by smithereens of screeching metal death darts.
Innocent victims of beliefs
in warped ideas of twisted minds.
The nauseating stink of inhumanity lingers on.
