The Thirst of Fate
A poem on children in war
Do you hear the voices of children? Of lives not fully promised. Of young not heartened but hardened. For death has become their playground. Sandcastles made from ash and blood as mortar.
Is there no remorse for a generation meant to be given hope? It's a slippery slope the hunger for power and righteousness, of lines drawn on earth just to learn that heaven makes no distinction.
A lesson seemed only to be taught through extinction. And I'm furious, for old bones and minds brittle who turn backs on what is most important even if so little. Terror breeds only terror.
And though these so-called leaders shall turn to ash and scorn, what have we bequeathed the newborn, if not a brutal outlook of how to hate, and wreak vengeance upon the next in line?
Fate. Fate. Fate is a thirsty absorber of what it drinks to begin with. What we feed it so shall it spit out. And these elders of our free world have enslaved the next generation by being unquenchable in their pursuit of poisened fruit, polluted rivers and blood-drenched streets.
May they see their reflection in those puddles of unrealized potential. May they soak it up when the light in their eyes fade and the all-equalizing darkness finally matches the dim of their hearts.
Only then do we start, anew. And once more make sandcastles of hopes and dreams come true.
Commentary:
It has been a while since I put pen to paper for poetry. The events happening in Israel and Gaza bring me to wear my heart on my sleeve. Let us focus on what world we aim to leave behind when our generation has had their chance to make a mark. May our efforts not be in vain, for every poem of hope, every act of rebellion, every flower planted, every smile reciprocated, every foundation built anew, know, it all matters in the long run.
Engaging write, Roeland. I like it, and the message you spread with it. We need to think about the next generations more, and find better ways to care for our beautiful planet.
Phew! What a great piece. That last line ‘And once more make sandcastles of hopes and dreams come true’ really comes off. Nicely done. This message is poignant in our times.
I’d like to issue a grievance though; no true elder would enslave. This comes with the lack of true elders. What we’ve got are unfinished boys masquerading as men, most of whom wouldn’t recognize an elder if one were pouring honeyed wisdom in their broken ears.