Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, and good will toward people and nations...

Was fur Plunder !

In Syria to day ?

Terror just before death,
Shoulders torn, shot
From helicopters, the boy
Tortured with the telephone generator,
'I felt sorry for him
And blew his head off with a shotgun.'
These instants become crystals,
Particles
The grass cannot dissolve. Our own gaiety
Will end up
In Africa, and in your cup you will look down
And see.
Black jet-fighters.
How where the ones intend to bomb !

Syria today...

Alive, we are like a sleek black water beetle.
Skating across still water in any direction
We choose, and soon to be swallowed
Suddenly from beneath.