Woe unto you, daughters of iniquity
abandoned by mothers
whose shame bore the faces
of metaphorical men
Woe unto you, sons of despair
your fathers lay slain
in red fields of their choosing
only memory keep the ghosts alive
but lambs to the slaughter,
can you not see the blade?
Hear the cries of the poets
seditious, truth-mongering dreamers
bleating from cloistered mountain-top
Brothers, sisters, salvation is at hand!
© M. Black, 2016 All rights reserved.