war

The day's sky stained black as night from the smoke of burning rubber and rubble.

Naked forms patch the ground,
flesh exposed and pink.

Ravaged Dogs prowl by,
waiting for the next meal.

Women clad in black cry and Nash their teeth

Their Men stand back,
riffle under arm,
cigarette between grease stained lips

men cheer and shout,
trophies of death in hand,

Raised up,
offered to the gods of honor and pride.

They fire of rounds in celebration,
no one turns their head to the bang as it echos through the empty blackened streets.

What flies high must come crashing down.

This is more than a simple law of physics.

The people on the ground see a chance for freedom.

The people in the sky see a chance for power.

Regimes come, regimes go

The war machine stays in flow.

The night's sky bleached white as day, phosphorus and flair drift down as the city burns bright.

Body’s buried in preparation for the next round of limp limbs,
burnt flesh.

Children cry in fear,
huddled against their mother’s breast,
in the dank dark of cellar safety.

Their men crouch low,
waiting for the kiss of life in the ghosts of once loved streets.

The world looks on and places its bets,

a cheats game takes rich bribes mid play

Rubbing hands to the chance of gain

This is the fuel that feeds the fire

This is the fuel that feeds the fire

The People on the ground are left to rot and die

The people in the sky drink bubbling wine to a job well done.

As Regimes come and Regimes go

And the war machine stays in flow.