Charles Taylor
I saw a speck
Of paper mustered in the wind
And dragged before my feet
Avoiding the contamination of the street.
Sure you had western benefactors
Culpable as you were gullible
The stench
Is what make hold my nose
From what sewage
Does this common paper blows
It rises above it
Like a buzzard and hovers
Over what was left of scrabbling rabbles
For the baubles of tragic mines
I saw that silhouette
Like a legacy framed in regret
I was cold
Colder than the hardness of diamond
And could not care
About your story
When the dead was strewn everywhere
In their greed
I only knew if I was fire
This bit of paper would have no turn in history.
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