me the people.

Daydreams spilt like wine roses
pelting the dawn with seaspray toasting
the night’s requiem into submissive slumber
I breach you with a clever kiss of wit
and your egg hatches with a
blinding twist of light;
discordant and rude
the green and the hungry explete
with powermouths of blood and decay.
This is your country, men of honour.
Built into the fabric, not sewn
a wretched streak
a gash of weeping
with the familiar language of crying babes
one by one
we all fall, and drown.
We must dig teeth back into the wound
before the filth begins to set;
so hard to swim with bound limbs.
Sharpen not your tongue at me
for choosing
I said, choosing
to sit on the sideline and observe from a cloud
whilst you decide
the lesser of two evils.
To give praise with a raised hand
disguised as your sentiment
your ragged glory;
this leaves me no encouragement
‘cept to recede with the
gluttonous waters in their shame.
Forgot your own –
hollow support from
cheap plastic shrines
and then you tear at my morter and stone
as if
you could reach the monument of me
so high
high enough that I can speak to the free people
lifted, up on clouds
unbound and wet with dreams and humanity
not bound by one country’s false pretenses
but lifted skyward
for every being, to flower, and rise.

-captain chambers (www.deviantart.com)