When will
you let the iron hammer fall on the
plywood boxes of hypocrisy? When will you
lower the boom for the sake of the dying?
It used to bustle along the streets, the avenue
markets
were full of mothers and children.
When will you blow away the smog and smoke
that chokes the tiny lungs of these little ones?
Now the markets are dust and crumble and the
appendages of hope have disintegrated.
When will
you judge, when will you answer?
When will you capture them, trapped by their own words?
Why is your timing so slow, so different than mine?
Why have you not destroyed the backroom plans
of the wicked? Why do the billionaires float above
it all like space rats escaping gravity?
Where is the moon on the nights of gloom;
hidden behind the shrapnel that exploded this
afternoon. The day is fading and we
fear the night when the sirens will bid us
to our bunkers and wait to next wave of destruction.
How long
will the grass wither, how long until the
healing rains come?
How long until the unrighteous are taken
to task
who hide the truth behind spoiled facets of
sacred words?
Show them what their end will be, but do it
sooner before more are shot down in the streets by
icy masked men hunting for game.
Why do you
take your time? Why do you delay?
Why does it take so long for you to drag them
with the dividing line of justice? Hear our petition;
act before we are all taken like a helium balloon
slowly leaking.
Take these words and give us a token,
hear the aches that we have spoken
and turn your face away from them who
pretend to speak for you.
