Fifty Shades of Death

A Poem by Terry O'Leary

When nights are dark you’ll never see

the depths of our humanity,

but in the light of desert days

the shades of death will quite amaze.

So if you’ve time to take the trouble

sift just once through wreck and rubble -

ashen bones of tots will rile,

though eyes of rampant killers smile.

While starving at their mama’s breast,

one wonders whom those babes transgressed.

But as the bombs boom, split and splatter,

does it even really matter?

Yes, mothers often pay the price

with holy wartime sacrifice:

in flight, miscarried embryos!

Quite slow as ethnic cleansing goes,

but nonetheless, one must confess,

infanticide’s a great success.

The Chiefs disdain the Rule of Law -

their conscience never seems to gnaw

when dealing peace its last hurrah;

though charged with crime, they never rue it,

persevere and still pursue it,

smile and claim “they made me do it”.

They smoke their own, like cannibals,

with dictates, such as Hannibal's,

erasing also hostages

in so-called rescue carnages.

With bullets flying back and forth

the hungry hordes are driven north,

since promised aid (that’s long gone south)

was empty words from furtive mouth.

Instead of plates of pita bread

the meals are served with plated lead,

and those expiring at their hands

will sleep neath sheets of silent sands.

On fallow fields where kids once played

you’ll find a random hand grenade,

the only one that didn’t explode

the last time that the lawn was mowed.

As prancing children cross the roads

sometimes a tampered phone explodes.

One wonders what the future bodes -

perhaps some elegiac odes!

Where are those boys that threw a stone?

Well, some were shot; and some were not,

but whisked away to place unknown

and in the meantime... left to rot.

Within dark tunnels, bad guys hide,

beneath the clinics, far and wide,

so missiles raze them to the ground -

no bodies of the bad guys found,

but upstairs in debris, instead,

lie doctors in the ER... dead.

Twelve bombers flattened Ah-tross City

showing no remorse or pity;

now survivors hide in tents

in fear of further ‘accidents’.

But where are those with screams that gags?

Brought often back in body bags!

No need for sorrow for the slain,

since after death they feel no pain.

Today are waged uncivil wars

which burst the dams and breach the shores

to empty vital reservoirs;

with water less than hitherto,

(and lacking coke from Timbuktu),

they’re left to lap the sewage brew.

This glance at barren battlefields

reveals the peace that killing yields,

evoking shadows time transcends

when man’s existence finally ends.

EPITAPH

While Jungle Jim the Jingoist

embroils the world, and wars persist,

pale Peter Pan the Pacifist

pleads “Can’t we somehow coexist?”

© 2025 Terry O'Leary

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Neha agrawal

Hey! I was just wondering—does the title is inspired by the well-known book Fifty Shades of Grey? I’ve read it, so the word “shades” really stood out to me. I hope you don’t mind me asking; I’m just genuinely curious.
And about that poem… wow, what a powerful and haunting way to convey feelings of anger and grief over war and injustice. The emotions are so raw, and the outrage is unmistakable, yet it’s all expressed so beautifully through poetry. It really resonated with me.