Forty nine young souls massacred
Children slaughtered, bound, throats cut
Died in terror with a bullet to the head.
Comfortably we sit and condemn the horror
Syria a despot state in its own death throws?
Or a tyrannous state with a cyanide grip on its people?
After Belsen did we not say ‘never again’?
But still the lynch men came, rabid dogs sent
by their masters to wreak havoc on the innocent
After Pol Pot’s killing fields did we not say ‘this must stop’?
But Bashar al-Assad in Damascus sits crimson covered
A victim of a conspiracy he claims
while the Alawite murder under the protection of his shells
Yet we sit comfortably sick at our ineptitude
Paralysed by the financiers and fanatics
Who continue to play Assad’s deadly game of chess.
We may wave our placards and our leaders rattle their sabers
For a while at least, and the world will feel better about itself
But the money in our pockets and a change in the weather
will erode our fervour and dull our sensitivities.
Such is our byte sized fed world that these children will be
forgotten and lost in a countless lists of growing atrocities
In forty nine days will we remember this brutality?
In forty nine days will we even care?
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