Who do you think will be next?
The cry of millions rising to the stars
rising from the bloodied dirt
Sun in mourning moving away from
soldiers’ dropped helmets, no one
to be spared, pushed out
by the anger of burning steel forests
The sun in mourning dragging down
with it’s shadow the men’s faces
blackened by the soot of their dreams,
the dreams that insinuate, stimulating
nights restless sleeping into days,
as absurd as a candle burning on top of Mt.
Kilimanjaro everything is evocation
and invocation, even men’s dreams
perhaps even, Salvation.