by deej

A loud bang.
A crippling silence.
A tableau of dust,
And limbs, and white noise.

A movement
A realisation
A shriek, a cry, a wail.

Wives, lost.
Husbands, gone.
Children dead, bodies still warm.

We are born equal.
And when we die we are just as equal,
six feet underground, shoulder to shoulder covering every inch of earth.
Paving a road of corpses
From Boston to Afghanistan.