Having despoiled the old habitat till the earth
screamed 'Begone!',
They look to new pastures for their tribes…
And the graves of the vanquished become the
foundations of the towers of the victors..
For the soil is always fertilized by the blood of the
slain, and the rivers dammed by their corpses…
'Tis but a pipe dream of some indifferent Deity…
It has no meaning save that which we give it.
Having
befouled their native loam
Until it
turned to salt and sand
They gather
their kin and roam
The earth
in search of virgin land
Armed and
tooled they walk and run
Or sail or
ride the beast and tides
They bring
with them both Gods and men
And make
foes of everyone besides
But when
they are broken by their own wheel
And what is
not barren no longer bare
The lands
of others they seek to steal
And in
their greed no effort spare
Thus do
mighty nations stand
On the
graves of those who fell
Their blood
and flesh fertilize the land
Their bones
arrest the rivers' swell
This world
alas is but a pipe dream
Of some
indifferent Omnipotent
It follows
neither rule nor scheme
Save what
we might find immanent
No comments:
Post a Comment