A mound of rubble holds no hope, no beauty
It just houses bodies
Bodies torn by bullets, fired for throwing rocks
Bodies blown apart, nothing whole, just pieces
Bodies burned beyond recognition, flesh and sinew held by threads
Mothers and fathers lumber aimlessly, calling out names of children who will never be seen again
Toddlers holding tight to thin air; crying for a mommy or a daddy who will never be seen again
Family trees, with the click of a button and flash of orange will never be seen again
An entire peoples’ history being reduced to a mound of rubble and sold to the highest bidder to create false hope and false beauty to sell
They will sell buildings made of bone
Dreams of the dead
Memories of a now-gone people

This is not an act of poetic exaggeration
Just stark reality
As we sit in comfort, thousands are slaughtered with no end in sight

And in 20 years, it will be seen as a tragedy
In 30 years, a massacre
In 40 years, a genocide
But right now they call it war
There is no war to be fought when one side has already been reduced to a mound of rubble
No beauty to inspire
No hope to feed on
Just a mound of rubble