Run.

Run, run as fast as you can...

 

 

Faster isn't fast enough, when fastest owns' the chase

The angst they drives the sane to face the madness of the race

With Pride they'll rule these streets, with pride they'll ride the hearst

The son' and daughters doomed to fall, the harshness of the curse

Militia becomes children holding weapons of mass destruction

and the Nursaries the first to see death and hell's deduction

Rice and rancid butter become the feast of kings

It's brother against brother, are there no more songs to sing?

Slashing fills the night, and bombing fills the morn

the barreens streets with barefoot feet, the sickly seem forlorn

I lay by a corpse, I dare not attempt to covor

The lovely festering remmbrance, the cadaver once my lover

No longer desires of flesh, the weak and feebled mind

It's kill or be killed, run or be left behind.

 

Reviews

[Steve]

'Slashing fills the night, and bombing fills the morn
the barreens streets with barefoot feet, the sickly seem forlorn'

Wow, so dark and prophetic in its telling, and your poetry is so visionary. At first I read it as a warning for the future with political undertones, but then again this happens all over the world particulary in its most poor and desperate quarters. Really well done.