Bloody rule
We live to conquer, he says,
He informs us, whoever will listen.
This want is a parasitic scourge,
Blasting a hole through a country
Hungry for a hero and finding none.
Walls, bricks, mortar, where are we?
Is this placard too rotten to be read?
He bears a shield, but no sword,
Only words burned in a bitter pot
Offering daggers to paper people.
It bleeds. Something is rotten and
It is not the Bard. This voice lies
Instead, building barricades where
Only unity should dwell. His voice
Sours, his body sickens inside.
We live to conquer, he says,
But the letters are hollow and red.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, February 10, 2019
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