Wednesday, 8 November 2023

The killing fields

 


Hear the call up. It will be fun.

A good war never hurt anyone.

There is nothing more glorious than

battling for your land. It's your duty son.

King and Country demands.

Go on, all of your friends will be there.

It will make you a man.

Peer pressure. stress invader.

The killing fields are getting nearer.

The songs will fill innocent ears.

You will have nothing to fear.

 

Heed the call up, it won't happen soon

but when it does, it will be repeated hourly

over your mass media TV screens.

Fed by drip feed, no silver spoon.

All over your social media feeds,

people seeding the killing fields.

Led astray by lies and deceit.

As if the government would send us to our deaths. Please!

 

Fear the call up. feed the killing fields,

flowers grown with blood spilled.

It's near. times are getting close. Mobilise. Mobilise. Kill.

Sing songs as you march in line. Don't fear.

Patriotism drummed deep.

Propaganda mind control. If you say no

ridicule will make you appear small.

School kids led astray, to fire guns as if they

are at play and in those killing fields

where they lay, there will be no one left to pray.

 

Marching merrily into the mixer we will go,

the meat grinder will overflow.

Slops will drain into the fields below.

Another time. Another war crime.

Led to the grinder like cattle to slaughter.

This calls for revolution instead.

Let's silence the hate. Come on all you sons and daughters

shout as loud as you can,

we won't be part of this murderous masterplan.

We don't fear what lies in wait. The killing fields will stay green

Not another drop of blood will soak into the soil beneath.

Stop the mass production of means of murder.

No more letting them get their way.

Let's stand as one and stop this before it's too late.

 

I will always refuse to fight.

Push me down, kick and bite.

Make me seem small, I’ll take it all.

I'll welcome the respite. Lash me, beat me.

I'll still stand tall with my hands behind my back.

I won't raise my fist,

only raising my voice.

My words will do the fighting.

Angry chamber biting against my head,

feel the trigger. Pull it.

I'll accept your hateful bullet,

but I will rise.

My words won't die

and the killing fields will not thrive.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

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Peace, Love & Poetry 
 
Kyle

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