child ain’t nobody gonna wash your laundry
those stains have been on your bed sheets for years and as much as you’d like they ain’t no turin shroud looks more to me like the face of a dying nation outlined in the blood of its fringe citizens but you do as you wish add some more bleach to make it as white as snow just like you’ve done everytime that stain for freedom reappears
he watched as the soldiers destroyed his home dragging his father into the street beating him ripping the clothes off his mother kicking her repeatedly he watched he watched very carefully without a single tear
and again
the night is violated
with the sounds
of metal on bones
and the hushing of a mother
to a child
and again
a child’s tears
are used to wash
the fabric of hate
soaked with the blood
of intolerance
and again
the streets are red
and full of vomit
of political rhetoric
casting flames of death
upon another land
and again
a child’s blood is drank
from the unholy grail
of self-righteousness
by the light of a human bonfire
with devilish
merriment
and again
faceless images
fade into the night
trampling small bodies
and looting all dignity
from the shallow graves
of a nation’s respect
and again
and again
without
end
Read Between the Minds 