The Dispatch

Here, I lay some remains of humanity at your feet.
You have buried swiftly, and patted down any dust,
Any mud that echoes the feeble call of defeat.
Cover your ears, and shut your eyes if you must.

Yet, I stand, head bowed, with my offering
On the shores of your consciousness –
Pruned of kindness, immune to suffering
Sharpened by sophisticated viciousness.

Take your young. Or whatever’s left
Of a soul you define as an eternal being.
Your tears, if they be, are bereft
Of empathy for simple suffering.

You say I took one of your own,
I say he was dead long before I took his life.
In your heart, you should have known
It was not quiet nature; it was your violent strife.

Wage wars, mint money while the earth bleeds;
Humanity is an easy price to pay.
Under my broken wings, discard your misdeeds,
And you are fresh to kill and hunt for the day.

My waves will continue hauling to your shores
Monuments of murder, shamelessly built
While your idiocy pulls off another stunt and roars
Over the whispers of remorse and guilt.

Your dispatch will be delivered.


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