Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
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.
0
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 9:11 PM UTC
Untitled
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.
graff1980
Written by
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 9:11 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem