Strumpet...

The whore in Iraq
sweet America used like
a street strumpet, abused
by men who did not love you
used for money

and they put you there
where virtue was a memory
where life was cheapened by lies
and death rained like mother's tears
after smoky bombs
and bullet filled air

and even now
as the years seem like minutes
so the dead are still lost to us
and oil still the price we pay
to the unborn who will freeze in strange heat
sweat in anomalous cold

breathe-in the folly of our age with
bitter tastes, as we fill their world with angers
their eyes with soot and burial ash

when memories like hatching eggs
bring the return of hatred, and
sands give back what we have sown
and time will own us; for the bonds
of truth...are unbreakable.




!0th Anniversary of the Iraq War ... hdm