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    dots Submission Name: Children of The Screaming Skiesdots

    Author: col13x
    Elite Ratio:    2.26 - 119/300/559
    Words: 352
    Class/Type: Poetry/Serious
    Total Views: 301
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2442


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    dotsChildren of The Screaming Skiesdots

    Where the hands of children
    nestle to the broken bones
    to the plight of innocence
    written tender in their eyes
    and tramp the palpable death
    in the armies wake
    while the terror is unleashed
    from screaming skies

    Somewhere in the white plush carpet halls
    the bigots cash register
    has its finger on the trigger
    counting out the price of bullets
    before accounting for the cost
    of human lives
    and as far away as a T.V. screen
    no one hears the children
    as they scream
    collateral damage of the hate regime
    has suddenly become
    an acceptable compromise

    Lay the blood upon those tiny hands
    bring horror to those wide and dreaming eyes
    unleash for them the screaming skies
    cut throat such a little voice
    in sheer panic plays the overture
    of their cries

    And deep there in the soldiers heart
    the bullets outer shell
    guided missile let loose from hell
    the flames which lick saliva on their greed
    fill the bellies of national security

    And presidential seats
    waving their stars and stripes
    the congressmen elect
    in the full and bloody let of media puppetry
    are purchased to apocolypse
    with every banquets idiotic sycophant
    bred by the lies of these psychopaths

    so meanwhile crushed beneath the armory
    the twisted limbs in girders
    mingle their awkward angles into dust
    scattered in confusion
    toys amidst the craters
    in the rubble lays the ugly splash
    of red the colour of their lives
    are painted when they looked in to the open blue
    and knew
    the terror of the screaming skies

    and far away the numbers roll
    as dead as the lifeless toll
    statistics on the paper sliding across the boardroom desk
    and the comfort of a handmade chair
    kisses the arse
    of a bankers handmade suit
    and terrorism is the promise of a president
    to refute

    Where the hands of children
    nestle to the broken bones
    to the plight of innocence
    written tender in their eyes
    and tramp the palpable death
    in the armies wake
    while the terror is unleashed
    from screaming skies

    Submitted on 2010-10-16 13:57:43     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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