Ten thousand and more have cried.
Their blood tears have bathed the world
and we see through veils of red.

We grow accustomed to the sight.
The cries are so loud that our ears grow numb.
We no longer hear.  We no longer see.

We dip our hands to wash it away.
Our hands are red and drip with lives.
With deaths.  For they are all dead.

They scream to run away.
They turn, they flee.
Our hands come down to kill once more.

As the small bodies flatten and burst
We no longer feel them.  Our hands are
not sticky because we cannot feel.

We raise our hands to our face.
What have we done?  But smell...
we smell blood no more.  All is sweet.

It trickles into our mouth while it still screams.
Grab more, shove more, eat more.
As it begins to jell we lose our tast.  And we choke.

We lay on the ground, yet we think we're standing.
We wipe our brow.  There are no streaks for
the blood is too thick.

As we see the world through red, without seeing,
without senses, we hear faint screams.
What are they?

written  11.11.97

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