Brush Strokes

Brush Strokes

Walking through the gallery I look
into the faces of the privileged few
and wonder
who paints the others?

Who paints the faceless naked woman,
her body found
floating
down the river?

Where are the faces of the thousands
laying
nameless
in the jungles?

Faces painted in blood
red
by the gleaming silver brushes
of war.

Where is the portrait of the child soldier
with death in his eyes and
a gun
slung
on his boney back?

Who dares to illustrate the woman
with child
cut and raped and left
to die
crimson rivers flowing
by her side,
her child
making no cry?


The beauty of life portrayed here
does nothing but mask
the faceless,
hidden behind the frames.
Faces painted in blood
red
by the gleaming silver brushes
of war.