deepundergroundpoetry.com

Pretty Words in Fancy Suits
Thieves, rip away my intention
as I lean in to stroke the earth
with love.
Pulling away the tar paper
I see combat boots, very still pretending they're not there
They wait for pretty words from
those in fancy suits to tell them
it's time to go home.
Limbs with pulsating veins
writhing alongside jugulars
and others that can't be
identified.
Lightening strikes a chord of
hateful pride.
Letters on lips of mourners
mumble, losing syllables as
they move their mouths no
one hears them
They can't rest, bloody tears
into crimson waters they drown,
In misplaced dreams
Dollars bills rush in like a savior
in a storm promises to rebuild
while they rake piles
of women, men, towns and
countries like fallen leaves into
a pile to be burned.
Laughing in sickening celebration
There are no pretty words for
those who will never go home.
as I lean in to stroke the earth
with love.
Pulling away the tar paper
I see combat boots, very still pretending they're not there
They wait for pretty words from
those in fancy suits to tell them
it's time to go home.
Limbs with pulsating veins
writhing alongside jugulars
and others that can't be
identified.
Lightening strikes a chord of
hateful pride.
Letters on lips of mourners
mumble, losing syllables as
they move their mouths no
one hears them
They can't rest, bloody tears
into crimson waters they drown,
In misplaced dreams
Dollars bills rush in like a savior
in a storm promises to rebuild
while they rake piles
of women, men, towns and
countries like fallen leaves into
a pile to be burned.
Laughing in sickening celebration
There are no pretty words for
those who will never go home.
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