Where the Bombs are Droppin’


Every five minutes, the news is poppin’
around the world. The stories toppin’
the big news channels
are frightening shots and video panels
Of pictures where life is stoppin’,
where the people wail, where the bombs are droppin’.

Piles of dirt and rubble where homes once stood,
where neighbors lived, where most were good
enough to find some friends
along the way. That ends
But now, the debate is whether it should.
Where the bombs are dropping is never good.

Two children walk along a quiet street,
the sounds of laughter, the slap of bare feet
against stones that have heard past wars,
Stones that line the walls and floors,
Stones that know the blood of defeat,
Stones where the bombs are dropping each week.

And those stones cry out when innocents die,
no matter the debate, the nuances, the why,
no matter the hate on either side,
where it began,
if it will end or if it can,
or if it will continue until no stone stands.
Hope hangs like withered tinsel strands
Where bombs are droppin’ and scar the land.

And from a distance, the images are gruesome and shocking—
humanity is broken where bombs are droppin’—
A nightmare that circles and never ends,
Dividing nations and people and friends,
But we keep making more bombs,
we purchase and gift them,
we work hard to ship them
without stoppin’,
And we are destroyed by the pictures as those bombs keep droppin’.

About the Poem

I am watching the unfolding news in the Middle East, and the anger and devastation are incredible. I wonder if there is a path to peace. But, no matter my view, I am trying to hold on to the truth that life is precious, and we cannot let hope fade, no matter the pictures before us.

About the Author

Dale Hensarling is an artist, musician, and author, living in Phoenix, Arizona, with his puppies and parrot named “Pongo.” He received his MFA from Lindenwood University. He currently teaches creative writing.

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