before the dust settles upon their graves,
golden stupor, come sweep away;
we are guilty of being inconsistent in indignation and outrage—
in what words do they justify killing?
Is this what they call enforcing discipline?
I have seen it happen over and over again,
what kind of plausible justification are they seeking?
Don’t read this,
it’s possible you might get caught up in poetic machinery;
there is an insurmountable amount of gall involved that begs
And now the moon with dark slice of weariness propels,
dunes of towering monologues
of hopes and dreams extend— there is no medicine against death.
Photo credits: Pinterest
A Skylover Wordlist: Machinery, golden, speak, illustrated, dust, medicine 💝
Posted for Weekly Scribblings @ Poets and Storytellers United
& Posted on Open Link Night @ dVerse Poets Pub