Eyes, gouged from blinding sun stares.
Hate, raging through the gears.
Palms, itching for the scalp of the weakened.
Sound the air raid alarm as the morning birds coo in their nest.
Heart of grinding steal and molten iron—
Power is not enough, blood is the payment due in the minds of the war mongering peace leach.
Destroy, sabotage, suffer in toil.
Raging, the heart of those who've hung up their drum to dry in the memorial hall of seething pain and acid rain.
Seeking only victory is he who connects to the machine.
His teeth drip of sweat as he begs for war to be the ruin for all but him.
He does not know the machine destroys the one wielding the controls of warhead and air strike.
May the man whom feeds the war machine be striken down in his sleep.
© Sebastian Grey