I am the tool, dripping with the blood of innocence, the sword in the arm of unreasonable men, committing atrocities in the name of righteousness. Expected to show no emotions, stone faced, marching on, mouth closed in silent obedience. Left to my quiet insight, where I have become the spear that pierces Christ, while you sit there complaining about your self-proclaimed civil rights. Doing for those who can’t do what I’m told must be done. With battle cries and muzzle flash from the barrel of my gun. And one by one, these booted feet crush the sand. Until I stand under a hot sun, a man with his brow creased, watching countries fight for so called peace in their fear of the Middle East. And this is their answer, spending more money on war, while children in Africa die of famine ignored and UN inspectors with blind eyes, examine the solution to these problems galore. These solutions we don't see in our judgemental haste are the answers which might as well be floating in outer space. Why can't we see it when it's right in front of our face! Dear God help us, for we are the human race.
This poem is the revised product of what I posted earlier today, forgive my haste but I wrote quickly to get the idea out before I forgot it.