The Terrible Irony of Beautiful Words.

Dog Poet Riffing.......


beautiful words


do not move me…


I am not entranced by this clever art


I’ve seen the heads roll in the Age of Reason


I’ve watched the bloody scroll of history


Unroll


While the band played on


And ugly men made beautiful noise


To introduce the thunder of their guns




There is no greater coward


Than the one who slipped by privilege past the front


To orchestrate from the sidelines


What he could not accomplish himself;


Whose skin was too precious to risk


And wrapped in the cloak of God ranting sanctimony


This shrinking nightshade


This empty suit


with the pomp of the preening jackal


Dines on the awful cries of the dying


That he sups like an intoxicating and wondrous wine


He feeds on the torment of the injured and estranged


Wrapped in the cloak of patriotic hypocrisy




He gestures at the battlefield


From which democracy will be ripped stillborn


From the blasted body of her dead mother


The still greater crime of previous event


The falling towers were no accident


Nor did some strangers from afar


Manufacture this without consent


It should to the objective mind


Prove self evident




Across the centuries


The wind of high blown rhetoric


Have driven the millions to an evil death


And yet it never seems to dawn


How like frightened steers they trample what is before them


into the ground.


And yet it never seems to dawn...




Something there is in the ignorant mind


That vibrates to the sympathetic string


Of the conscious and applied evil of the Hyena King




Something resonates


Something capitulates


Something rises


As something descends


And all that is decent and good


All that would bring forth a greater brotherhood


Must run to the cover of the invisible wings


While a murder of crows blackens the sky


And smoking ruins


Like new buildings


are transformed before your eyes


Into a wasteland of fire and death


For the profit of the few


For the comfort of some


The usual business will go on




It seems that this must be


Though we have waited with insufficient hope


Perhaps we shall see the day


That these twisted carrion feeders


These iniquitous deceivers


The butchers and the reavers


And all their demonic crew


Shall march into hell fire


Into Their native homeland created from their own need


And the door will close upon the echo


Of all their beautiful words




End riff.......