These timeless scenes of war, <br />of the people leaving their homes, <br />the columns of soldiers and tanks <br />and the rubble left by the shells — <br /> <br />it scarcely even matters <br />what color the uniforms are, <br />you could substitute yellowed photos <br />a hundred years old or more, <br />and no one would know the difference. <br /> <br />Human anger, reaching its limit, <br />spills over in scenes like this, <br />warriors and innocent victims <br />and somewhere, hidden in buildings, <br />the ones who conceived the slaughter. <br /> <br />The pictures we see remind us, <br />all those in our human lineage, <br />how fragile are our encampments, <br />how tender the threads of home, <br />a neighborhood where we can walk <br />and a room to sit down for a meal. <br /> <br />All we who are living witness <br />say a prayer for the suffering victims <br />and a thanks for a safe, warm bed, <br /> <br />and cry for this human condition <br />of transience upon the earth. <br />There, but for Grace, do we go.<br /><br />Max Reif<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/35-after-viewing-100-photos-of-mideast-war/
