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A Prophets End to Invasion
 
They were besotted 
And long they stood with their clans men
their adamant frenzy breaking the strain in their eyes
gawping at the infamous injustice done
the dangling figure hung 
with loop and gaudy blood
limp in their half seeing light
 
The uniformed aliens taking a stroll
the curfew bell rang sharp 
almost brutal
down the abandoned alleyways of the one time 
cornucopia
a dirge is sung 
bemoaning their dear sweet concubine 
oh where oh where was Columbine
 
In the hanging square this cringe of faces 
milled and cried
show us something 
give us cabaret 
show us eternity 
give to us this monstrosity
 
Voices in tune with their monotonous isolation
beseeching the crystallized prophets
as they rolled in tanks and armoury 
waving the flag of their bedlam
the aliens returning once again
to another hero hung 
from the bow of a slender tree
malice aforethought grown to onslaught 
on the figure head
choked on his fine cup of blood
 
A crown of Apes and thorns
Labeled him the shyster 
the pseudo man
crying 
“don’t touch the sycophant it is taboo
don’t taunt the warrior 
the lecher may come for you
don’t dare to look upon him
the dead face of our renaissance”
 
So the masquerade was done
the Christ is hung
the fable has gone
they are lost in their cybernetic burlesque of confusion
once the satyr made his revelation
                                     but not one of them dared to look upon 
                                                                                the face
of their dead rebellion

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