The Patriots

(I came across a box of old writing scraps and memorabilia. In it was this poem. Written at the age of 15, it’s pretty strange how a young girl can develop such a sensitivity to the international political climate from the ivory towers of suburbia; without really being in touch with it beyond televised news coverage.)

Did you see the news today?
See interlopers shot and flayed?
Do you wonder when the flag first frayed
Somewhere in the powerplay?
Or what motivation lies
Behind the man who stands behind
The military attaché?

I can’t tell my days from my dreams.
The earth’s been red for months it seems;
Marsfire mohawked through the sky
Like borderlines through great divides,
Like seething veins through bloodshot eyes.
How is it that we die with pride
For secret-ops power designs?

But “thus is life.”
Our civil pride,
And slipshod lies,
And kindred calming alibis
Make up every star and stripe.

And so we pass up offerings
Through dumbwaiters, on pills and strings
To top-hat men at dining tables
Who feast on blood and oil and fables.
Scraps of food fall off the edge
And trickle down the pyramid scheme
Into our waiting, neck-strained mouths,
Made tongueless by acidic screams.

Made tongueless by the rifling,
By the stifling
Of dreams.
Like hatch-hungry birds, we eat their puke,
We panicked, pig-skinned paratroops.
Will lift our arms in pale salute.
Doleful,
Desperate,
Destitute.

Eyeless, faithful, resolute.

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This entry was posted in The Lyrical Moanings and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to The Patriots

  1. Excellent work.
    Daniel

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