Our days -
numbered.
Five years they say.
War rumbles
in the distance.
Be prepared they sneer,
breeding fear.
Inspiring the sweats
that wake you
whenever nightmares leer.
The ticking clock
in motion,
they speak of war,
as if it is set in place,
No debate, no conversation.
Just blinking timetables
towards annihilation.
The end of their wicked fables,
clandestine meetings
around candlelit tables.
Conversations
in darkened corners.
Only ever end with us dead
or cowering at their feet,
wishing for a life more stable.
Don't fall for their lies.
Warmongers, are just like
shit-stirrers at school,
just wanting to swirl up
a tornado in the cesspool.
Soldiers march in mournful song,
but more and more
soldiers will always come
once that bell of war is rung,
and when they are sending
our children to kill
or die behind imaginary lines,
remember the lies they told.
They only worship
pain, power and gold.
Gaslit streets turn dark
as the lights bleed out,
and once the abuse is rife inside,
those lights
will never again reignite.
Now they say three years.
It's inevitable they scream.
Fuelling their own wet dreams.
Their own fantasy islands
where money pours in
and hatred flows out.
Be in no doubt. They want this.
You can see it in their war-lust eyes,
that's why they shout so loud
in propagandised sighs,
vaporous dust like lies.
We need to yell
louder still.
Stop this thirst to kill.
Thanks for reading
