From so many lies, covered in soot
but still waving melted guns,
he shot himself in the ‘get away foot’
and blamed others for being done–
in.
Confused aim, shot his arm so could only wave one,
a modern day ‘love the bomb’ more than peace,
reeling and veering in smoking circles, stunned,
making more mess though wishing all tumult cease.
Not really… it seems.
Round and round he spins shooting crazy,
and innocent birds fall dead from trees.
He shouts he deserves an inflated parity
whilst children he’s harmed but never seen–
become his desaparecidoes, the disappeared.
His lies multiply like piranha-bunnies, not cute,
breaking decency bones and tearing the tender flesh.
Throwing soot bags slashed open’ as he walks pretending astute
judgement while his perceptions, ideas, actions are a bloody hash…
his ‘new’ malignant ‘normal.’
In the old days of monster films, vampire hunters and myths,
the tactics; superior weaponry, constancy of heart and hurt,
–not to kill the monster for oneself, nor settle a mere tiff
but to save that which cannot be allowed to perish from this earth–
that is, all of us.
Monster Slayers, press forward, but only as much as needed,
yet not an iota less than needed– cut off ammunition, gut the lies.
Have ready Another, a good soul and visionary, who can be seated.
Let the fabled Sword rise from the Lake and transform the cries
from pain to ease, and easier–
for as many wise and hopeful souls as possible.
May it be so.