By the Rivers of Babylon,
yes, we wept sore.
No boughs to hang
our assault rifles on,
we wept for America
gone.
By the Rivers of Babylon
no flowers greeted
our burning eyes.
The song of America
from a dry throat never
cries.
By the Rivers of Babylon
they made a harp of
my brother's hands.
We wept sore as the flame
of shock and awe
expands.
By the Rivers of Babylon
grains of sand rattle
in each empty cup.
Hateful eyes follow us
like Sunlight in cloudless
ruts.
By the Rivers of Babylon
yes, we wept sore
and thought of home,
the lush green of America,
taken by desert anon and
anon.
2 comments:
David,
This one spoke more wholly ... a tight write in a deeper intonation and tongue. I felt the echo of biblical times ... in my reading. A fine Easter Sunday post.
xox Sarai
Maintains all the passion and didactics of a Espiscopalian nightclub. Your best thoughts fry quickly along the river bank. Please listen once again to the Melodians.
Reggie
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