The Language of War

An ongoing violence, and a relentless silence, the people of Gaza are crying, as we watch, our beloved people are dying.
The casualty ticker keeps clicking, and with it gravediggers keep digging,
The sound of bombs deafens the singing, and in children's ears is a ringing,
Not of school bells or pleasant humming, but of bomb shells and distant drumming,
Of war drums, and the whistling of mortar rounds and the clattering of bullets,
ripping through the clear sheet of the horizon, carrying a fateful message,
to the final abode, to the grieving chest, that bleak and inescapable prison.