For whom the Bell Tolls

Death
born out of hated
wells in crimson red bodies
that have stopped beating
and life has flown
through the sockets
to where no one knows.
Heavy eyelids now guard the eyes
of children, men and women
from the shadow of light,
knowledge, hunger, fire
and love.

The bullets came with the wind
out of greed
of wandering races
from lands, hungry
for black waters,
weary of poor tribes,
of their tongue, skin, god...
and as pain learned to speak
they set off with their guns
and the legacy of men.

They arrived in ripples,
waves, growing on seas
on rain
on sand...
They came with the silence
of masks
of lies
of deceit
of guns
and the word death.