who’ll stop the charade
there is a storm brewing
simmering in a big black pot
stirred by faceless warlords
pretending life
doesn’t matter much
high winds blow madness
into the next town
precisely honed strikes
wiping out historic deception
as new chief lays down
new laws
war drums beat relentlessly
inside children’s dreams
bringing showers
to the desert and
drought to the streams
turning camels into arks and
temples into zoos
from the beginning we are told
there is no time to write home
there is only more life
and more land
to claim for our own
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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