Valley Of Death Somewhere In Africa Poem by Martin Lochner

go home crusader soldier....this is not your war....)

Standing on the roof tops of Karthoum I observe anarchy in the streets...
Salie my tour guide explains:

John Stuart Mills philosophy has no bearing in the life of our leaders, priests and militia..
The greatest goods serves the elite by their blood....
in this savage land we serve a savage god and its wrath demands blood...
blood that is spilled happily by those that must die by random means....

Salie takes me to the streets and this is what I observe:

roads evened and formed by the exodus of burst feet and painfull corns...
snap shots of a goya hell...their bodies mutated by hunger, fear and horror...

goblin maggot faces and blank staring expressions....a distinct smell of zombie death and their aimless thronging....

a possessed people that woke up one morning and turned against each other....general dealers that cleared out their stock of maize and sweets
and replaced it with inventories of AK 47 guns and RPG rockets

weapons expertly handled by cafe corner kids and concerned mother looking for them...ready to shoot down any person or dog..

a restless war lord ruled here...a sadistic artist that painted a bleak landscape with black burning ash swirling in dry desert winds...

perpetual conflict and peace briefly with the reloading of guns and carbines....

merit a good grouping of bullets in the skull....