Scattershot

Scattershot              3/13/2019

Eight percent
And eight an hour
Poisoning themselves
Asleep in the dirt.

Silence can tell you
Everything
And this also
You must know.

The words are written
In our heart
First received
Then shed.

Opened vein
Onto a blank
White screen
Decades tumbling
Thoughts, feelings, and words.

Some will never know
And many will never see
The end from the middle
Sudden and sharp.

Lured into a trap
A crossfire killbox
Half way there
And half way home.

Frozen into memory
Like dreams trapped in amber
Both alive and dead
And waiting
To be born.

We did not know then
What is so clear today
The evil hearts of men
Anything to gain
And anything to win.

Crueler than we dreamed
They who murder without shame
Telegraphing their intent
For you and for me.

The end game looms
For any who might challenge
and any who might question
The incoming mass
Compliant and dumb. 

The great accuser hides
behind the curtain
Pulling strings and levers
Passing others
Through the fire.

Let it all come out
Every hidden secret 
Pulled up and out 
Exposed to the light
And burned by the sun.








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