Unleash the arrow from your bow
I'm hanging by a string you know

The anger's bent you nearly in two
Your rationality has lost it's due

Cast me not across the sky
It will only leave you asking why

Put me back into your quiver
Where we can again be birds of a feather

Waiting for the sea she sits
writing with her fingertips
setting down herstory on the sand;

waiting, with a wistful eye
watching for the rising tide
wondering if stories can be drowned..

i guess yours sleep in bed,
clean and cosy, safe, loved and cherished.

others love and cherish , yet their families
sleep in mud, on streets, wherever they can find.

they have left the place where bombs drop on children.

yes. a person simply decides to drop barrel bombs on children.

on everything.

now be angry.

sbm.