“It is forbidden to kill; therefore all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets.”
-Voltaire
FIELD NOTES #31
Without warning the rain beats against the glass,
a thousand little bullets crashing lifeless
against the translucent plane.
From where i'm sitting, the fury dissolves
into a harmless whimper, the slow
rumble of thunder like a lion's gentle purr.
But the rattle of shutters is nothing
compared to the coming storm.
When bombs like hail stones streak through the sky
and air raid sirens scream bloody murder.
The sudden silence is a sigh of relief.
You pause to take a breath and then come the tears:
they say when God cursed Sodom
Lot left the city—the howls still ringing in his ears.