Bombers Moon

Making love to my demons under the flag of my Country. Caught in between the never believer and a pardon of angels, who bargain their souls for my redemption. Empowered by a nation glorified by heroes departed, my life sanctified by religious compromise. For tonight I fly under the bombers moon. Nearer to God than most I see the world differently. This Earth orbits in a sea of cold my plane hidden in its recess. A place where silent screams dwell and rainbows are sent to die. Away from the gaze of my enemy a phrase worthy of the Devil. Away too from the patriots sting sanctified by another gods hand. The History books dilemma of right and wrong. My run begins, my mind listens to a confess of whispers. The engines become my Priest, as the bomb doors open. Horsemen of the apocalypse released from their tethers, I am the Arbiter of Death. As in Nature, chance will decide the faceless will fall and God willing I will return home. In the scheme of things a Cities worth is one minute, 23 seconds. The camera records in slow mo for posterity, and the future will bathe on these memories to a nations delight. The Impact sweeps away the sweat of past generations. Creates queues of ghosts, waiting, to lay in row after row of white marble. Their silent screams absorbed into Heaven’s Gate, (A cold Hallelujah) for God to judge. For the folks back home it is Just another day on planet earth. But don’t worry, Time, like the brook of sighs will wash away these sins But not the seeds. For we are the gardeners of sin. Their germination lovingly corrupted In our differences, them and us. The Pillars of capitalism our advantage, the fear of the Devil theirs. Our final epitaph in the circle of life. We are conditioned to repeat the mistakes of the past. As is the Wilder beast to cross the River of Death. Or theologians using religion as a weapon of war The devil and the Crocodile dines well on such a menu. We truly are, a blessed Race.