deepundergroundpoetry.com
US
A crown of thorns,
Adorned with rotten rubies
A linen stained,
With strain and imperfection
Wood, sat on so often.
Souls are numb to the splinter
Fire, feared so long
I have grown numb to its ember
Love, saturated by superficial waters
Chains, broken—yet stronger.
Hero’s temples make love to revolvers
Resistance; a figment, ripe for slaughter
One nation,
Under a God with dripping fangs
One Flag,
Drowning out all of the foreign bangs.
One goal,
To sip from bubbling spring
With bellies that poke,
And reflections that sting.
Adorned with rotten rubies
A linen stained,
With strain and imperfection
Wood, sat on so often.
Souls are numb to the splinter
Fire, feared so long
I have grown numb to its ember
Love, saturated by superficial waters
Chains, broken—yet stronger.
Hero’s temples make love to revolvers
Resistance; a figment, ripe for slaughter
One nation,
Under a God with dripping fangs
One Flag,
Drowning out all of the foreign bangs.
One goal,
To sip from bubbling spring
With bellies that poke,
And reflections that sting.
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