All I See Is A Child With Third Degree Burns Poem by Kevin Patrick

The future stairs, in pixel bites, from monochrome beams,
down satellite eyes
While the past explodes in a quadrangle weeping
from the opposite side
Embarrassed acts of devastation
come back to me and collide
As images of Europa cascade
from a fiber optic line


But all I see is a child with third degree burns



Small, ingenious sentinels, are quietly calculating
subtle maneuvers
Around Agenor's quite daughter,
unaware of machine intruders
Meanwhile, Croatian artifacts,
are ripping horrors in my ears
It's the ghost of Milosevic
who still ravages these years


Because I see is a child with third degree burns



It's the carbon dated hairstyles,
that indicate the general fashions
When Sarajevo was descending
to Yugoslavian jackboot fascist
And no one in Lašva Valley could see the ascend
of I-Macs
Since every little boy and girl are found
in body sacks



And still all I see is a child with third degree burns


Reprieve me, through the vacuum,
where shines that celestial sphere
Irradiating new hydrogen
Imprinting a rich oxygen atmosphere
My escape through oceans tundra
on molten alien rocky shield
A brave new world of vistas
that absolve my human fears




To never see that little child with third degree burns