stripping layers of burnt skin
from lifeless bodies...
digging shallow ditches with tractors.
smoke filled silent skies.
the screams of the dying
swallowed up unheard...
the gods turn their heads,
and the trees that wept
are now on fire....
the stench of emptiness...
glass broken on the sands.
who sent the planes?
who pulled the triggers?
whose faces, whose souls?
Eric Cockrell
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/whose-faces-whose-souls/
