So discreet the deceit is complete.
In the street no one knows how it goes
till it shows, way too late, no debate.
Sealed our fate with a pen and men.
They would come for some in the slum,
Playing dumb, we defend not a friend.
In the end no one’s here, shed a tear
to fear, when it’s you in view.
Train ride to genocide, go inside,
bodies fried, tombs to share the stinking air,
bones are bare, burnt skin sags in body bags,
soldier gags, guts spill, vultures fill.
A case the human race can’t face,
in a place close to war, the whore.
The infected sore on our back we attack
till we crack, giving in to the sin.
Copyright © Curt Mongold | Year Posted 2008
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment