The Fruits of Victory

A sky once blue turned black

By soldiers who wear badges of honor on their backs.

Fiberglass rain ceasing weak heartbeats 

And staining dark red on cracked concrete. 

The ocean across where birds chirp, 

You’ll find drones humming, flying under 

The watchful sun that knows no borders 

But sees the tortures of tyrannous warders. 

Mr. Prime Minister, what do you regret more?

Killing too many?

Or not having killed enough?

Mr. Prime Minister, what keeps your stomach full?

Billionaire dollars?

Or the blood of hungry children 

And their weeping mothers? 

Journalists from all over, 

Cameras broadcasting the truth, 

Up on the mountain, 

Big Brother is watching. 

Within all the rotten, 

The young have forgotten 

The sweet taste of an apple,

Once so abundant,

But famine overflows like a flood,

Followed by rumbling earthquakes of hunger. 

Within all the rotten, 

The old have forgotten 

The rustle of peach trees 

That will never die,

Captured proudly in family photographs,

Buried under gray rubble.   

“Land of the free”

And home to the wealthy.  

White meant purity, now, supremacy. 

Oppression disguised as opportunity. 

A glittering star for every cratered country.