Uvalde: The Slaughter of Innocents

by IRENE FOWLER, Contributor

“This is on you until you choose to do something different … This will continue to happen. Somebody needs to stand up for the children of this state or they will continue to be killed just like they were killed in Uvalde yesterday.”

– Beto O’Rourke, Texas gubernatorial candidate

To read Irene’s new poem “Uvalde: The Slaughter of Innocents” click:



Uvalde: The Slaughter of Innocents

by Irene Fowler

Is this the ugly face and character, of a ruling, advanced civilization?
A horrific, gruesome look at the world’s most powerful, favoured nation
Guns do not kill, people do! Silly, putrid double speak
Despicable, damnable and destined for the dungheap.

**

Children, tossed live into the cruel, fiery furnace
Butchered and shredded bodies; lacking any traces of cherubic, darling faces
Come, clutching your shattered psyches and DNA; claim your babes-in-arms
As we parade an array of free social services, designed to outwit, trick and charm.

**

Oh! what vile subterfuge and depravity so low
Its all about the corrupt power and filthy cash-flow
Thoughts, prayers and wicked tears of acid rain
From vile, venomous, leaders and merchants of death, who can feel no pain.

**

Children! flailing, sinking humanity’s future, glory and hope
Sold out, ditched, betrayed by monsters high on lethal political dope
Promising, rosy souls, trusting hearts, unsullied minds, innocent eyes
Truncated, cut-off and unable to live precious, prized, priceless lives.

**

Shining brightly as part of heaven’s panoply
Nineteen Novas outshine entire galaxies
Each a rare, brilliant, beautiful gemstone
Their sacrifice calls for American society writ-large, to answer for and atone.

**

There is a special place reserved in hell
For all who line up to ring it’s ‘time to die,’ school bells
Beware! for your corrupt, bloody, earthly passage, has finite days
And the angels of the Uvalde babies, look on God’s face: So My Bible Says.


© 2022 by Irene Fowler

About wordcloud9

Nona Blyth Cloud has lived and worked in the Los Angeles area for the past 50 years, spending much of that time commuting on the 405 Freeway. After Hollywood failed to appreciate her genius for acting and directing, she began a second career managing non-profits, from which she has retired. Nona has now resumed writing whatever comes into her head, instead of reports and pleas for funding. She lives in a small house overrun by books with her wonderful husband.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.