The Burning

The burning
Let Rome burn, so spake Nero or one of his flunkies
Towns and cities are burning every day in the Middle East
Flames taste not of roasted chestnuts in the Alley
Of peace but the stench of hatred fills the air.
This will continue till the last drop of oil, better still
Until we don`t need petrol for our cars med to the teeth
Yet fearful, it is as it knows the future is lost.
I wonder why so many high ranking officers in the USA have  
German surnames, one thinks it is a tradition.
In new wars to come it will be about water- resources.
Look out Scandinavia, so you don`t end up like Libya.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

Poem

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Pigeon Tart Avatar
March 12, 2019 at 8:37 AM
Woah, heavy, stark, potent penning. I know when I open one of your poems I will be privy to fresh sight, you do impress dear poet. xomo
Hansen Avatar
March 17, 2019 at 2:28 PM
Maureen McGravy, thank you
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