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A mother clutches her child, bloodied, and frozen

Another lies beside her, numb and lifeless

Around them, rubble from wracked shelter

Blown to bits by bunker busting bombs

Unleashed by bloodthirsty purveyors of horror

Their sustenance is, perchance

Nourished by the ghastly sight

Of maimed limbs, skulls, and blood

And the appeal of scattered debris –

The shameless testimony

Of their insatiable penchant for power

And the heartlessness that’s clung to its trappings!

Consumed by their twisted sense of might

That resides in their bombs and guns

A veil of darkness shrouds their eyes

They see not what we see

Nor do they hear the cries

Of the dying and the fleeing

Of Homs without homes

Of a man-made apocalypse

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