Sunday, July 30, 2006


You speak of my brothers deaths

Your words rest like garbage on your tongue
Your mouth oozes pus and infection
You are utterly without an inner compass
You wail and flail and rail without direction

You are lost and stumbling in manure piles
Your skin is covered with red swollen sores
You speak the language of appeasement
You speak with the mouth of the enemy's whore

How shallow and without character you are
How rotten and foul smelling must be your breath
This dishonor is all yours when you try to
Misuse and characterize my brothers in arms death

I see you on the wastelands of history’s defeats
I see you as a collaborator with Hell's unholy cause
I see you take your small self satisfaction and walk away
Without barely a thought of soul or even a pause

8:45 pm
my thoughts after hearing another idiot
use the war dead toll for their own
walter cronkite glory in defeatism purposes.



Post a Comment

<< Home