Peahen Parliament

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
A peacock, pondering politics.
Privileges for those with man in their name,
no reason, no right, not handpicked.

Sustaining life, upon those shoulders,
A maternal war neither lost nor won.
Morality, honour, conflict is clear.
A paternal battalion undone.

I see into the silent soul of all,
The Saint-full monsters created,
Our burdens are thirsty for salvation, redemption.
So we quench on our own obligations.
Watching the peacocks quench on theirs through tiresome, disdained, admiration.