She was not Fair
Neither kind
nor just—
The blood that
soiled the
Motherland
at conception
was not untainted
—like she had
it coming
having over
dressed the part
and spread the
invitation
to the lauders
of the dark—
So they said
tearing the veil
of morning
from the land
to pillage
and plunder
this already
war ravaged mind
commenced in
manifestation
since before
the big bang—
in every race
and false start
we’re ever
willing victims
—to the roles
we’re assigned—
what freedom
we’d been granted
overruled by
her power
—quaking at
the fault line—
we’ll plant our
poppy stained
surrender—
and curl into
final slumber
upon her
bared breast
never quite
at a rest
in our fight
with our own
Mother Nature
Self— lover
and tormentor!
perhaps all
is Fair in
Love and War
I’d have wished
otherwise—
yet see how
her beauty
still beguiles