The Children of West Beirut

Some things still remain

to halt my complacency.

Floating earthward, the dead leaves

fall from Lebanon’s trees.

Today’s lines, a few words

spilled like spurting blood;

reddened eyes that read and stay appalled.

New-dead children

pull the ragged skirtings of my mind.

When from the horror another shot rings,

& none of us lives,

or in the red skies a yellow star

connives with raging cross,

some things will remain

to haunt my complacency.

- Peter J. F. Newton