What foul deed
do these fools decree
to submit to this
madness that you see?

Blades of grass,
knives of steel,
bullets that feel
no more or less real.

Pain is reaped
like wheat with
the reaper’s scythe .
As loved one fall
on into
an endless night
while leaders
claim the right
to order us
to fight.

Our fallen kin
lies therein
victim to their whims,
profiting the wealthy
more than the starving
children and women.
While nationalistic rhetoric
leaves stranger thundering
bellowing broken justifications
our new leader elect
just goes on a vacation.