A wounded warrior weeps on the field,
lay’s low in the cover, keep his eyes peeled.

Where are the children?We can’t find a trace. We searched till dawn, but not saw one face.

No it’s not a place of glee. An old man said that he saw them flee. They ran into the swamp and tall grasses, crouched down terrified as death made several passes!

Protruding bellies with Deep sunken eyes, With tear stung face, I begin to realize.

Rebel war has come to town,
The silence is shattered.
children dead on the ground.
Others just scattered!

Nauseous smell of death in the wind; The vultures all circle, and the feast begins. “Pain for you but feeding time for me”, the vultures feast has come early.

Soft whimpers are heard
but it is much too late!
Love was now silenced,
Screaming loud is HATE

My memories now run like a hunted thing,
down paths I care not, and wish not retrace! From fields of blood, I to His throne of grace.

Three days without one hour of sleep! In a sweaty, night bed I drift into the deep.

Instead of rest, I hear explosions and see war. Lunging up in the dark I leave the bedroom and close the door.

~ Kevin J. Turner http://www.swi.org

(Rewritten this night, several years after the trauma forced it to paper, some years ago.

(Written 10 years after seeing children
in Sudan being eaten by vultures)