From an Iraqi Christian Village
My words were like stillborn children,
My cries for help--all impotent,
Like lambs led to the slaughter,
I'm the only one left.
So hungry I felt like an animal
lusting after human flesh,
So thirsty I drank
my own vile sweat.
I grew immune to the smell
of slow-rotting
flesh
Stopped averting my eyes
as they sliced at their necks.
My lungs still have breath,
But my soul's ironed flat.
Present
This moment is thick
oozing with the present
which is the only thing
that is real when there is
no promise of the morrow.
*Kim Bond loves to write and considers it her ministry. Her writing appears in over thirty publications. She can be found at www.drawnear.webs.com .
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