Voices Muted By The Hands Of Death


Death has no voice it cannot speak
Picturesque landscapes painted so bleak
Blood stained tears fall upon heaving chests
Tarnished by carnage, of which there is no rest
Depraved souls walking across the dark plains
Alone and helpless, women and children are slain
Salt poured into open wounds
Life’s value no more than the soles of dirty shoes
Governance sits still as our daughters lay slaughtered
Yet no end insight as we sail on rough waters
Life is no longer considered sacred
Hearts so vile, poisoned with hatred
Endless visions of sisters being beaten and maimed
This affliction so deep-seated leaving its stains
Mothers cry out at the sight of bloodshed
How can we hibernate as our children lay dead?
Tortured souls quake, for them there is no rest
Sleepless nights until they get justice
For their fate they had no choice
Who will stand up and be their voice?
Life sucked out they have breathed their last breath
Voices muted by the hands of death

Alison N Turner-Lewis (Ucalison)

© ANL 2017

Words arising from the somber picture painted by the continued upsurge of violence and crime that reigns against women and children across Jamaica and the world over

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