the wars upon the land
had crawled ever closer
the distance from implosion
grew as thin as the skin
of those worn down
once tall, strong, historic
they had crawled ever so slowly
harsh claws
agony as they went
down the artists throat
words fell upon brazen vocal chords
consumed by the hunger of war
his voice, fallen
like sweet angels forgotten
the wars they took his laughter's life
but his hands they knew not death
they played the strings
they sang his song
the wrote his passage
they became his lungs
they gave us gifts
his words too absent to give
so he played us poetry
he dare'nt speak of
in quite so certain terms
so he played for us
the sounds of life
the haunt of war
that we might see
what we are dying for
every one is dead
and no one knows anything
and the keys to the kingdom
lie with the monster
as he fights his savage
we are our brother's reaper,
our mother's shame,
and as for our sisters,
there is only silence.
No comments:
Post a Comment