Dont Burn The Flag - Wash It
#5233 / aantal keren
12
WAR WAR WAR WAR WAR
By thepoetryman
O! In these times, this infant land; in our sour belly, the warriors
Of old and new are dying
To the filthy refrain of war, war, war, war, war…
Those that came before
Breathed toward a fresher world,
A sea green life in a globe drearier than this;
Yet we have cultivated the flavor of battle
Without actually pulling the joyful trigger.
Distanced ourselves from the entry wound.
Taken leave of the truth behind a looming void,
Ate of it so that we’ve dulled the senses.
We’ve lost the will to foretaste
And now stand agape outside our pleading hope
With no tools to dig our way to her;
Is this what we want of our love; suffocation?
O! In these times, this infant land; in our sour belly, the warriors
Of old and new are dying
To the filthy refrain of war, war, war, war, war...
A stranger at the door;
It is we,
Wringing our flesh of war…
Might we tunnel forth to rescue her?
Will the world lend us its many shovels?
Copyright © 2007 mrp / thepoetryman
http://apoeticjustice.blogspot.com
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