Gord

2023-04-12 05:23 am

Birth mother, 
Are you done in search of justice?
From hunger the feeling lingers on,
I want to be created equal, in three parts:
My heart, my dreams, my thoughts.
To stomach decisions these fingers long:
How much must one muster?
The war is over, the performance over,
The opponent is dead and gone.

He hears the fear in his voice,
Drinks beer, balks, talk circles,
Inside he looks awkwardly,
Leers like a child at adults.
'Blood eater, what of your cuts?
Is your search for freedom done?
What is your word for love?
Of people, of reason,
Like earth, sun,
One deserves better treatment, 
But worries when wonders gone.'

Colonel, a third of your country, wrong.
Fanciful fawns, thoughts prancing,
Warnings: Songs bandied to a swan.
Wanting nothing, wanton, famished,
Like night always says to the dawn:
Our prospects have long vanished.
It's more self talk, silence in response,
Dancing alone, along to the bombs that drop.