Bernstein wept.
Too late.
Fifteen years alive
this beautiful woman
then:
Chained about the neck and wrists
three circles cigarette burned
into her face
raped
eye sockets smashed
finally found
flesh hardly there
only mold merry at the feasting
and the sad tongue pleading mercy
but there was none
in Brooklyn
and at night the dream:
200,00 dead in Darfur
and who dared then to postulate
Heaven or Hell or a heart
without blood
all having been gulped by demons
drunk on murder
singing a tune of their own creation
while the world’s tears
chattered in a thimble.
Charles Chaim Wax
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/beyond-that-final-blip-of-breath/
