Exploding Us
Rondeau
7-3-2013
dgw
Exploding us I praise and curse.
Bullet-born, by bombs laid in the hearse.
With rockets mark our holy days,
Every last guy a Fawkes ablaze,
And every friend also a nurse.
Healing phrases are rendered terse;
Diplomacy is even worse:
Faint hope of truces or of stays.
Exploding us.
I call on Love's gigantic purse
To open and to reimburse
The hurt with balm of calmer ways
Like those of Rutherford B. Hayes
Who, post-war, penned a peaceful verse.
Exploding us.
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