Talk to Tahan Jones on the Fictionville blog
Row after row men march
to the sound of war hounds
barking at the full moon.
They pound their swords against their shields,
as Masters of the Universe move their pawns
into position.
The men grunt to the load placed on their backs,
as invisible hands
drop them onto contention land.
These freedom fighters have colonial dreams
superimposed upon stock market bulls and world domination.
Pax Amerikkka will reign.
Peace will come they are promised.
Instead
steel blossoms in the streets
and death’s scent hangs in the air.
Blood spills into rivers
that satisfies hatred’s thirst
for generations.
Seeds of doom
sprout in newborn bellies.
Sweaty men dodge questions and rush to harvest the crop
for which violence has sowed.
Before the crop is spoiled by reason alone.
They whisper in young ears
might is right
god is on our side.
And the promise of immorality and virgins
Entice them into early departure from this world.
No cause is nobler
than revenge that immortalizes
one’s body in civic space.
Advertising their defiance against the way things are.
Courageous act.
Selfless gesture.
One step into paradise
And two steps back into hell.
They make no progress
in preventing the sacking of civilization.
By barbarians within
using asymmetrical warfare.