Blood Sky

Heed the creed of steel, of gun,
Drowns the choral mists of dawn,
While blood has called for blood,
Luna folds wings and is withdrawn,
Blood-red the auroral skies portend,
As bleeds a man with fate foregone.

Young men leap to the drums of war,
Bone's chill at their cold resolve,
Dimple cheeked youths in folded brow,
Kill. Primal souls deliberate, devolve.
State and church spurn their salvation,
Cold vengeance that none need to absolve.

And the man and his company lay bleeding,
The sword rewards this merchant of death,
Our sons plunder o'er their gasping frames,
Blood prints extend with their last breath,
The Pakistan sun still sees fit to rise,
Upon the end of this murderous Macbeth.

As the sun caught up with western skies,
The smell of blood upon the silver wind,
Jubilant songs tumult from vacuous souls,
Cold umbrage that grace could not rescind,
One hundred thousand with skeletal stare,(1)
Kin, Neighbor, God himself in deep chagrin.

And the sun,
And the clouds,
And children,
And birdsong,
Continue.



1) This is about how many people total have perished so far in American efforts in Afghanistan and Iraq. Our own 3000 fallen, though immensely tragic, is but a small percentage of cycle of killing and revenge.