Sad, dreaded days of those unchained,
Locked in systems of agency spent
On material gain's wish whisperings
Of wealth and its prideful intent.
Days when men no more care for others,
Their selfish coins worn thin, now wane.
Crying tear-drowned, grieving mothers,
Dry unheard in the wax of war's reign.
Tyrant tricksters rear haughty their angry heads
To bellow their vile, naughty claims,
While their cruel poison trickles through militant mists,
Falls on all, acid rains of pain.
Storms form grey clouds, pelt sorrow's gay crowds,
Shouting blood curdling pleas to be heard
Above thunder rumbling of nation's stumbling
O'er minions hiding behind fool's words.
They pledge allegiance to the Demi-gods who wake their empty souls
And take them bound to glories found where flames burn icy-cold.
Deep in depths of depravity, loud men rush into din of war,
The ill-begotten are extinguished, to breathe smoke-filled peace no more.
Meanwhile, midst isles destroyed by wild ones,
Who heed arm's call to harm their brothers,
Their thirst for blood to cleanse their longing,
Can not be smothered in the arms of their mothers.
Yet, once they sought to love one another
Through struggle's awkward tribulation days,
But the enemy within smote them sore with sin
And the crippled could not crawl away.
For no more are they children of a loving God,
Their head led hearts hard as crucible stones.
No mother's tenderest kiss dare stir them now
From denial of compassion's kind home.
-P.S. Colley
Nov. 5 2024
Cries of the Unheard
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