Sinfest

[Secret]

The light beats harsh upon the sands,
Markless where the bodies fell,
Flying skywards from the lands,
Flying from the burning hell.

The stream of blood flows ever on
A trickling, ticking, tocking toll,
Its drops the beat of “freedom’s” song,
Marking gaps when calling roll.

And while they wait astride the road,
Waiting for the Reaper’s touch,
They glance at those who stand beside
And wish that they could do as much.

For as the Reaper takes a life,
Another Reaper’s born anew.
They germinate in pain and strife,
That flow of blood, that Witch’s Brew.

And as that brook does feed the land,
The scythes arise in blackened heart,
And so arise does angered hand,
That darkness tears the earth apart.

And gravestones rise, in shattered earth,
Till all the earth is in their swell,
And so unfair is death to birth
That all the world’s that burning hell.


(Written in response to hearing about more casualties in Iraq...)
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