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By coujeaux Date: 2003 Mar 04 Comment on this Work [[2003.03.04.19.06.8981]] |
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Strike again; dirt never moves aside willingly to reclaim any returning to dust, Go deeper in the next blow for even your mightiest swing but cracks the crust. Cry for them I pile ten more in your tasking; I've anonymous refuse to spare, The instant you inter this heap into the graves there's plenty more over there. Ah, you defy me silently, wishing it were I beneath a shovel, screaming alone, Not the endless trails of nameless victims unprevented as flesh became bone. I whisper to your children before you know I've spoken; take me in your arm, You think your discipline is enough to stop my progession; I'll do you no harm. One man lives across the ocean, his masses become the opiates of your weak, And yet another man lives across the street from you and the two never speak. What might he say as he watched your broods ascend, then happen and cease? Did we think to listen to the warnings he volunteered as some basked in peace? He who tills soil begat that which feeds appetites which nourishes earth again, Drive your instrument way on down and inject your load into filthy beds of sin. Wails of abandoned, blackened ear; burying dead right here, must you leave? Sit a moment and tell me of pretty things; I'll instruct their mothers to grieve. You see, for each one I take I replace, planting the seeds to recycle my prey, It takes a strong heroine indeed to watch remnants of her own sacrifice today. |