Along the right edge of my sight
a satellite or a meteorite.
A ufo perhaps.
Some form of intergalactic craft
after hundreds of light years in flight.
Do they come in peace
or are they armed to the teeth?
Are they friend or foe?
We can never know.
Shoot them down,
people scream and roar.
Our leaders grin
like children playing war.
Now they are able to test drive
their new toy guns.
They will declare themselves heroes,
for lighting the fuse paper
leading towards the powder keg.
If it had a digital timer,
The numbers would be coming up zeroes.
Take them out before they
dine on us instead.
People plead and beg,
afraid of being superseded
by a being born of faraway seed.
They can't be trusted,
they are so different from us.
Our planet doesn't need
their types infecting our fields,
we are too full to give them meals,
they will just feed on us instead,
or worse we may become cattle,
bred to fulfil their needs.
All we can do is kill.
I'm sure the religious texts agree.
God wills it of us,
we will always be free.
Ready, aim, fire.
Our weapons send a message
Like a barrage of explosive stars,
This world is ours.
In the command ship
translated through some
high tech futuristic chip,
we can hear the words from
the visitors green lips...
These savages aren't equal,
They can't be helped,
Not until the day
they realise they are all
just as weak and feeble
as a flower blowing free.
We could have given aid,
to set them on a fruitful pathway,
but sadly, they will all be
feeding worms one day.
We could have prolonged that fate,
but alas they are not ready.
We shall retreat, come back
in a couple more centuries,
through by then it will
just be cockroaches
and ashes we see.
Thanks for reading
Follow this link for more.
https://linktr.ee/Wordsandfluff
You can find my New books
"Tales from the 44A" and "Stations
here
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0DBKXPN13/
and here
continue to do this.
Peace, Love & Poetry
Kyle
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