The Missiles

In secret silos do they stand,
Forbidding, filled with gloom,
To spell the chosen victims' end,
Those harbingers of doom.

The ultimate in birth control,
The vanity of nations they enhance,
Those messengers of winged death,
Released, perhaps, by chance.

They are like bells that toll the end,
Of all the hopes and dreams to be,
And deep within my anxious heart,
I wonder which one tolls for me.

Alfred Charasz
Copyright 2005 Alfred Charasz