Crumbs of Comfort
Consume the message!
The trench line’s bite is keen,
A sore point etched where bought men have been.
Comrades in arms, armed the comrades,
a close finish, a political war paid for with charge,
Only the innocent are left battle-scarred.
Captive conquerors claim freedom
as they march in chains,
The blackest lie still fuels the flames.
The leader makes speeches as the youth
march to martyrdom, boots beat dust,
Silent, they make camp where voices rust.
The money changers at NATO rub hands as
senseless tears settle on letters torn,
A Valentine from an old love worn.
Handicraft lads and lasses search for
love in cold mist, life a fleeting thread,
as the dead count out their dead.
Pay the bill! The people cry,
The longest odds, royal England cracks,
The nut’s birthday, a feast of lacks.
As we declare, no more, no war!
The overlord calls through the fray—
Lights out, girls and boys, no more to say.
WoPoLi 
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