Poetry

Horn of Africa waste.
CALL-CALL-come children.
The hut is under the sun.
So is the feast,
Call with the empty horn.
Scream upon the high hill.
Below the working buffalo.
Children play with paper balls.
No band-aid, on the elbow.
SCREAM-CHILDREN, they come.
RUM MEN--looking for slaves.
RUN-RUN-into the bush.
HIDE-they come.
Just sold like that.
LIFE IS NOT FAIR.

12/9/2006 from 8HOP.com
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JESUS SAVES