Guernica Poem by Mark Heathcote

Guernica is a place brought to ruins.
A plague of violence where chaos reigns
Here let us be under no illusions.
Pain and destruction likewise have no gains.
A child slain lays dead in its mother's arms.
A haemorrhaging horse outward bleeds gored.
Disturbing images are like thunderstorms.
They are ruthless disasters untoward.
That won't make you laugh. That'll make you cry.
There's a dismembered soldier, a mother-
Crying, and it's nothing like a lullaby
It's a canvas of life in the gutter.
Under a spotlight of disaster that might
Shortly in a gallery, shine bright.