Neither lit lamp nor prayer replace this dark
exhibition of a graveyard.
Alas, Guernica, tongues as sharp pieces,
sharp shattered shards of broken blades.
An eye-shaped bulb does not the red reflect
two-fisted grips of death-like hands.
Alas, Guernica, hands with monstrous bent,
sharps caused by strafing fusillade.
Winds of war and arrows blown through windows.
Bull’s tail drawn as arm of the dead.
Long necks neighbor faces beyond salvation,
art – black, white, and gray shows what’s been slayed.
The Taurus of Man shown in pen and ink
depicting his need to conquer.
Eyes askew – he thinks he’s meant to fight war,
his agony forever displayed.
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