55 Poems by Patrick Bird - #1: War Breather

Dandy day in a dark realm,
split pea soup in a war helm,
preach brother,
don't impeach another war breather,
fall to your knees,
embrace death's design,
save that complaining for another time,
we've got slants to right, to fight,
to ignite.
Have to be sure to say that right,
ignite up a hatred for us overnight
back home where the lazy sleep,
in beds where safety keeps warm thoughts in the head,
not shrapnel and lead,
and psychotic visions of dead children,
lying at your feet in a village of peaceful farmers,
America's great army of harmers, of haters,
of "ask questions later," the benevolent invader,
space exquisite, desert or jungle's face,
priced and given to corporate disgrace,
for overpriced condos can't buy themselves,
nor can the trinkets that fill up it's shelves,
in a yacht, what was thought to be the goal,
golden,
worship the soil which breathed fire and drank blood,
before it was clean and we had none,
no great incentive to kill and re-claim,
the weapons and powers of our past's shame
mistakes or calculated attempts,
either way,
we're looking at the dawning of the same old day
the sunrise peaks over the corporate bay.