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today is 31 Mar 2023

To My Son, Hyacinth
by Gregory Wilde  /  poetry  /  10 Dec 2007

In all the courts of doubt and love,

We shall never forgive what we are,

Inside dreams of a pantomime,

The world dances freely on a razor's edge,

Furious regret and rage,

Suicide missions into the red-holed caves,

Warplanes and military parades,

Squash the freedom that civilians fed,

Iraqis are people just as you are too.

Joining our progress to achieve the evil extermination,

Of mankind,

In the no-man-lands,

Is only an excuse that was sold,

From politicians that court us door to door,

Election day brings true colors from the lords,

To see the bloodline inside us all,

Is to free our minds in the fall.

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