amerika, how you smother

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


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