You gather the crowd to your delight,
And claim you’ve done so to know of their plight.
You hand over scraps because it feels right
But your impulse, I know, is to give out of spite.
You mourn in publicity, the lives gone in the day,
And shed tears for the lonely as they bury their way.
You proclaim ascension in the pillars of the nation,
But your intention is to steer clear of suspicion.
You play by the rules so you shove them away.
By the street they fry dry as they tremble and cry.
You claim treason for a cause of greater reason,
But your game is well-played as your cohorts envision.
You imbue undue glory to the redheads of tyranny,
And smile before many for calling you a phony.
It is what it is, rather than be sorry;
Tomorrow, you’ll see, you say, “they’ll save our country.”
Your people betray the causes we obey,
And we suffer dearly from their disarray
For where we are now is not where you are;
Thinking you’re far better at taking us afar.
You praise what we do and give us your shoe,
But you put on a show and put us in tow.
The road before us is as empty as your heart.
What can we do now, we’re kilometers apart?
You send us out there to serve an outlander,
And you steal our voucher for the nation’s power.
Yet here we are now in mournful surrender;
Not looking back, dare you call us a traitor.
The country is in disorder yet your people are happier.
In strides, they get closer as we lay their blue runner.
The smokes fill the air of the meat in their griller;
And they toast to each other for ‘outlaws put in order.’
Our brothers have fallen braving the horizon;
More may follow as you cheer the bandwagon.
But fight we must do because ours is devotion;
We oathed to choose life and not die in abandon.
The masses applaud for our hands are that good,
But you’re in that house and invoke a bad mood.
You all call us heroes but you don’t take us in;
Not thinking our mission will lead you to win.
You may see us low because of what we do
But the dirt in our hands is unmatched by your blood.
These muddy limbs help us to rise
Beyond your infractions you coat with disguise.
If there is one wish we are asking of you,
That is to thank us, not hold us in bars.
You wash our victories with foxy narratives,
Yet we still fight for you despite what you do.
Stop, stop now; your heart must be tired.
Quiet, quiet now; your mouth must have dried.
After all the bickering, we all now know
Backstabbers like you, to the pits you must go.
Image by Omni Matryx from Pixabay