One year on, we have learned,
my friend,
That a child conceived in the womb
of a would be terrorist in another lifetime,
can be maimed,
militarily detained,
decimated with 60 gunshot wounds inside of an ambulance.
This is just science,
some play of probability, as calculable as the weather,
so we must abide
by this certainty of chance.
And haven’t you heard,
there is a case to be made
for a murder of a minor,
legal and solid,
morally well founded?
Because you see, war is ugly,
with damage so collateral that cities can be razed,
entire histories erased.
And so, we’ve seen
on a livestream
that eyes can scream
without blinking.
That a grandfather, holding his snuffed out soul,
will politely wait in line
to let another wrap the mantle on his own daughter first.
That a mother will kiss the dusty eyelids of her baby again and again,
before handing him to sleep
eternally in peace.
That a father’s legs will not buckle as he tries to shake the headless body of his little boy back to life.
So we march through the streets, my friend,
you and I
at this pinnacle
of civilisation and progress,
chanting,
remembering,
“All children are equally valuable!”
“All children are equally valuable!”
“All children are equally valuable!”
We do not know this anymore.
We do not know this anymore.
Where do we go from here?
Chromological 