It's time.
We have no paddles or life jacket,
learn we have to,
learn to swim
in this pool of blood.
Where our taps run red,
our sweat turns red,
our tears are red,
learn to swim
and keep swimming.
You cannot stop
because there is no shore.
You can be a bird
but you will have no wings.
You can scream and wail
but we have sliced all the ears.
You can open your eyes out of sleep
but it is no dream.
You want to laugh?
Talk to bodies floating around.
You want to play?
Stack yourself a mountain of these bullet shells.
You are hungry?
We are selling cylinders filled with gun powder.
You want to breathe?
Smoke of our sins is plenty here.
You want to live?
We apologise but that is not in service at the moment.
Look to your right.
Can you hear the scratching?
It is our freedom gifting armies.
Scratch scratch.
Lines have turned yellow.
Keep scratching,
we can see the swollen tissues,
tear and scratch.
It is now red
but keep scratching,
Now blood is oozing out.
Still,
plunge,
plunge and plunge.
We cannot stop,
you know we crave
far more than just blood.
Learn.
Keep swimming.
No shore?
Build yourself a one.
YOU ARE READING
Paper Mill Songs
PoetryA collection filled with hasty scribblings but hearty attempts. I will be uploading a new poem to this collection every second day. The work deals with subject material such as hunger, child labor, war, death, utopia, and sometimes love (Basically a...
