Connect

Why is there war?
Is there a hell?
I'm not sure I believe in one,
But Hitler's got to go SOMEwhere.
And dark henna lines flow
From the still pond cellophane in my hands
To your cracked desert land skin,
Like the soothing words I speak to your aching mind,
Connecting for a moment.
And I know, even if you don't,
That in a small way Hitler was
So that this moment could have meaning.