A footnote on Wikipedia reads number of people 
dead from starvation may already be higher.
Tomahawk, you tell them about paradise and 
Elysian fields. You teach them about being 
made a martyr. You 
bomb the ladders they build to climb. 
Tomahawk, destroyer, 
angel-with-death, God-among-Gods. 
Pray for survival. Pray for	        your children. 

The hellfire missile is still falling to 
the ground. The mother is still screaming.
Feel the weight of these months. 

The radio static hums a lullaby
for a child somewhere, cannons
of thunder coming closer. The father
sets the table with hunger. The mother
is still screaming. And when the child 
wakes, he will play in the shadows
of bombs and dance to the song of war.

Try to swallow this lamb leg. This 
will be the last one you will have.