amerika, how you smother

by Michaelw1two inspired by the words works of MusicalCharlatan amerika, amerika, how you falter, how you run; remember running on the graves, of all your daughters and sons; turn away, you seek no cause, your heart marred with flatulence, gives no pause for compassion lent; saw a man, saw a man, saw a man today, heard him scream, the name of a country; pain ran from his ears, trickled into his eyes, as my spiked boots kicked him; in the day’s skies, I viewed my tomorrow, what did I behold, rampantly running amuck; citizens gathering and standing alone, having no voice, specks of white in churning seas; of red, black, yellow, and brown, all felled by their ignorance; their fake reasons for inaction when called, these masses bleed from peace faux living; it is strange I think, to see them smile, their lips bare back to expose white canines; some perverse effort this, for they are starving, to fight it, they use toys to take away their pain; conjoin and meld with their eternal enemy, their narrow sightedness, their greed; offer them death, dead patriots, ha! dead patriots, dead citizens, death; Cavalry returned, is what they have earned, in place of starvation, give them bullets and guns; terror’s hands, fools and loyalists prance, in place of war, release “those” white doves; the ones with razor sharp teeth and claws, do not give your thoughts to US; take our steeples, kill all these people, no need, for any to survive; pasty clothed sepoys is all that ‘they’ need; ‘they’ bid you sit, forget about ‘their’ warriors, such fighters, they fight for what they truly love; not what ‘they’ truly want for them, treason stands behind greed’s frothing door; now opened wide, the paymaster’s chore, flesh trembled as, their palms were plied; treason’s trough, their souls now ride, that book falls into my hands; what I saw, history’s dead patriots, heeding his call to come, knocking; upon my thoughts, flinging out life’s pages ripped; cutting deep my hand’s flesh; spilling my doubts, unto Rome! Oh, Rome! that death’s head place, your seat, your seal; your crumbled people, your towers felled, now heartless and drown in boiling seas; warning’s calls, you did not hold true, or admonition heed, but you will pay the toll; the toll of the last calling’s bells, put ointment on your wounds; fix up, your worldly points and views, cry when anointed with truth’s regrets; and weep through your apology’s few, you know you did not live righteously; knew your time was unjust and un-forthright, amerika, begrudge now this wanton call; your ideal’s death, is what I meant, as wrings my heart, so does your neck; these words, remember “read my lips”, look to the hourglass, its sands entail; this hour’s last, oh how these sands do slip, prayer time ends, amerika, your end is real; only I may twist, with gist, this whist filled will, as this earth, mother’s garden, asks for her pay; for your thoughts dear, beloved of mine, that you remember well, remember, who allowed you, your time to spend. Michael Darrell Walker