Whether the smoking rubble forms from
Tumbled towers or ruined desert caves ,
The settling grime of guilt remains.

Whether missiles are guided
By box cutters or by lasers,
Chaos and mayhem reign.

Whether human lives are snuffed
By smoke of oil or ideologies,
Death is the fragrant incense.

Whether "religious," or "political," or "ideological,"
How empty men's blessings and declarations fall...
Empty on the mothers of the slain.
Empty on the mothers.
Empty on the slain.
Empty.