A poem simply sounds the bell, of that which words could never tell.

EMPIRE



With deadly self protection,
Your right as regime,
Myths of justice,
False totems carved from stone,
Stone,
Squeezed from blood,
Deny and petrify,
Poison with sanctimony
Those who march to unfamiliar drum,
Consigned yet again
To museum-piece history,
Mausoleums built from stone,
Stone,
Squeezed from blood,
Bend now,
For the sake of all,
Be soft, be warm,
Blood may yield to mystery.
And pride descend at last,
That those towering walls
And cowering halls,
May befit their sanguine tone.
Post a Comment