http://www.billfrymire.com/gallery/weblarge/thirst-in-desert.jpg

The hoary patriarch lies, belly up. In a bed of dust
Eyes open, mouth agape 
No one stops to close them. 
The exodus, peopled by desperate souls, presses desperately on

Beneath the azure sky. Once bustling streets are cadaver filled
Chaos and cacophony reigns. The man, as still as the waters deep,
doesn’t feel the jackboots bashing his face in
Nor hears the infant’s cries. It’s mom’s breasts excised. 

At the gates, the cartoon platoon stands. Arms in hand
The crackle of the guns rocks the wrinkled man. Still, he sleeps
He doesn’t squeal when the shot pierces his heart, his belly, his head
For the soul’s departure leaves a silence that screams louder than the noises without.

*Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of the image above.*