because it was war
and she a child perplexed
by the suffocations of home
groomed betrothed and taken up
as a bride of the prophet
to be the advance reward
of the martyr’s promise
for martyrdom for sacrifice
for men made from boys
because it was war
because it was holy
and she a blessing in disguise
she bore witness to horror
and bore children
from death into death
because it was holy
because of faith
in the face of infidelity
and the profanity of unbelievers
for faith denied and faith abandoned
retribution plunged its blade
munitions exploded
blood was let
because of faith
because the blade
that cuts one heart
cuts all hearts
the child soldier and his doxy bride
all the collateral flesh and bone
every by-stander and every innocent
cut down in crossfires
enemies in name only
beheaded into waste-bins
summarily executed
blood on the sand
sand in the blood
water tears and weeping
witness made blind
because the blade
because she regrets
a child with child corpses
to remember for her sins
she remembers home but home
forgets the child she was
will not even prosecute
her juvenile delinquency
death to the infidel
she is dispossessed
because she regrets
© Brian Hill
Brian has been 50 years a poet. One-time designer and film-maker; long ago, the rhyme-slinger, cartoon cowboy, and planetarium poet; now feverishly stringing words together in the hope of making sense.