The blood-dimmed tide has loosed.
The hyenas bay for food; the sound
a cacophony of gibberish.
The ceremony of innocence long drowned.
The warlord takes his throne.
We know what beast this is, slouching
not toward Bethlehem.
Murderers are released from jail.
The only ones who had conviction--
among those who could have stemmed this tide--
were a band of perverts, selling fiction,
and a welcoming hand to trespassers.
What choice we had? Perverts and trespassers
on one side,
a warlord and hyenas on the other.