Darfur

In the darkness of Darfur,
where ebony runs red once more,
no blood of martyrs stain this land,
just innocents with empty hands.

Mercenaries without mercy,
waste the water of the thirsty.
They chisel notches for the dead,
who lie in ditches bruised and bled.

In sandy graves the legions swell,
lain beneath these grounds of Hell.
Despots pat their bellies full
and count up coins to pay the cruel.

The world looks on detached and cold,
no matter how much truth is told.
Ignore the pain in weary eyes,
the ravaged flesh that feeds the flies.

If in this place God had prevailed,
there wouldn't be a way to tell.
This is where the evil lies,
In this place where angels die.



Carly Bryson - 2007

I am not a poet.
But warriors who risk lives...
would rather do so for innocents,
pressed by genocide...would rather
die for causes pure...so their sacrifce
is worthy of Godly consideration...
because they deaths will be judged.
They will be weighed on scales of justice.

Let us be weighed on scales of justice...
because the worth approaches cause.
And that's all men should sacrifice for, die for.
What else would a Rebel say? To die for Darfur.
Let's roll.