The Slaughter

Survey the field with grand illusion, 

The slaughter waged at my intrusion. 

Commanding tools of grave destruction, 

Enhancing my will, my instruction. 

To carve a path through all obstruction. 

Birds of prey will reel at the sight. 
 

I grant myself consideration, 

To the process of indignation. 

T’was barely worth such contemplation. 

My actions stripped of admiration. 

Carcasses of Greats, know damnation, 

Birds of prey will scream ‘My Home!’ 
 

A product of an institution. 

Flipping the coin of persecution. 

Ballads are sung, poor execution. 

To celebrate the mind’s pollution. 

For absent is our restitution. 

The newspapers having a field day. 
 

“With words I fight for revolution” 

This is my clasp for absolution. 

Articulate with elocution, 

despite a preordained solution. 

Papermill grinds them to conclusion. 

Ironic that tabloids are so judgemental.