“Report the status.”
“The status quo!”
All hopes were hollow,
in rims of war.
While searing air
Clustered in my lungs,
The gates to heart were burnt.
Dry shrills trespassed the tongue
Entrenching fears
On the stony face
And chomping smoke
To crack the craze.
What’s there for me?
To ease the grief
I held the breath
of bladed stiff.
The army’s hungry,
Thirsty for
A goblet more
Of bloody war.
For swords were honed
To dull the pain
While mothers moaned.
Their sons were slain.
For generals,
were generous
And loyal
To the death…
Amalgamating red
With trampled waviness
of grass.
June 30, 2010
Out of Status Quo
© Copyright: Юрий Лазирко, 2010
Свидетельство о публикации №110063006991
Свидетельство о публикации №110063006991
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