Tree of Death

3 years ago by in Whorls

terror

Terror, a wild seed planted
Embedded deep in the dark crevices
Of the mind, far away from early detection
Has been sown but we haven’t noticed.

It started with a tick.
A mental mite chewing deep
Into the heart of the depraved.
And to the depraved, met the heartless.

Devoid of feeling, funding
The madness of a few for mayhem
To suit their own purposes
Religious, political.

Blood is spilt and again
And again
Till the earth drowning with wasted life
Cries out in dismay.

We sit, as if desensitised
To the mounting scale of Death.
Fear’s root grown so deep
Into the soil of our fertile minds.

We’re not afraid, we scream
And yet we fear to gather,
Crowd, who knows…
Are they going to be there.

We do nothing but pray
But we have been given hands
To uproot the plant of terror
Before it becomes a tree.

Uprising, chaos.
Take the battle to the battlers
Death to the Grim Reaper
And death to his pay master.

Set the city alight with fire
Of indignation
Till the root of Fear
Be scorched in our minds.

Alas who knows
If then we’d be able to be free
From the oppression
By a few, for the masses.

A nepotism of Terror
To cower a nation.
But would we stand?
AND STOP BEING SO COMPLACENT!?

OR ARE WE GOING TO REMAIN
NERO ON THE FIDDLE?
ROME AFLAME?
ARE WE?

Are we?

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