the little strong man
gives orders
to ****
    to cleanse
         to resist
he reminds
his frightened people
     of the glorious      
old
     victorious times
     and the soul of their nation

and when he is sure
     that no real news
     is shown on state-controlled TV
he broadcasts
     his rousing speeches and
     those heart-warming
patriotic
          movies
of another war
to elevate the fearful

he pretends
     not to be afraid
of laser-guided bombs
cruise missiles
stealth bombers
and unseen stratocruisers
that hit
   or almost hit
carefully selected military targets
and spare civilians

or so they say

the thought that one of my friends
   over there
might die
   as a non-selected target
because of this maniac
heats the blood in my veins
    clenches my fists
       chokes me
        with a wild
fierce
    ravenous
        cold
   ANGER

gold as the sinking sun
the cloudy sea,
burnt to the colour of autumn leaves,
floods with blue.

No matter how bright,
Now matter how fragrent,
Everything fades
And smells like rot.
The smell of old books,
The colour of old life.

If you were broken, and i had the parts to fix you
i would work on you both night and day
but, i'm afraid the parts that i use would mix you
and take the best parts of you away