Horrors Come to Light

A distant cry, an endless cry 
all day, all night.
The wind howls across a forest 
souls buried in the cold moonlight.
The wicked men dug the graves
Hastily, wet in sinner’s sweat
sucking a stale cigarette.
Demented minds.
They hoped the earth would be silent.
Too grimy, too dirty, too dark 
Killed for nothing.
Laying own peculiar mark	
Killers prayed after violence.
Tears mixed with blood 
drench the land like farm soil
The graves gave up their dead
Brims of suffering, deafening anger
and deep melancholy.


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