What have you done to this time of ours?
What mix of stinking wretchedness have you left us?
What in the bedraggled bottom of hell were you thinking?
You, with your godforsaken pride and lifeless eyes
With soiled thoughts planted like a rock garden,
The weight of the next idea holding down the last.
You don't understand your deplorable sins upon humanity,
You with your excuses pinned under stones of hatred.
Goddamn you. It is too late for your trite regrets,
Our hopes scrape the granite of immovable statues
Like moments in a famished dream of peace without end.
We call to thee to look back at your wanton wreckage,
To acknowledge this; our complicit suffering,
To grieve with us, our countries bereavement.
The martyrs of your making are built with straw,
Like the unholy kakashi, arms spread like Jesus,
Prepared for nothing but a murder of crow.
Death is the bitter fowl scraping at your sockets,
The harbinger tearing through your thankless nights
Like deadly shrapnel scurrying across your lawn
To mow you down. What should we do with such a gift?
The heroes tombs are all prepared, waiting for them to fall
And you sit there with a smugness reserved for kings,
Kings, whose empire’s have come and gone, who ride
Defiantly upon a beast carved from the same stone.
© 2008 mrp/tpm
Watch the Movie - Kakashi
Rolling along "F"...
Faith in Honest Doubt - Faithfully Liberal - Follow Me Here... - Forever Under Construction - Forms Most Beautiful - Fran I Am - Freeway Blogger - Freida Bee - From the Left - furry friends