Masquerade Poem by Robert Macdonald

Once heard the tale
Of the puppet master’s
Masquerade

(His yellow livered hack brigade)

Surrender our days
Working for
His pet grenades

(Imperial inept crusades)

Directing our hate
Toward abstract ghosts
That slowly fade

(Déjà vu this blind parade)

Lining the pockets
Of the wolves with hollow sockets

Tucked inside their covers
Blowing up the pregnant mothers

Clear out the fields
And the leeches come
To plant their flags

Tear down the statues
That were inconvenient
To your plans

Prop up your makeshift
Scarecrow shams
Into the sand

Hiding behind
Your smokescreens of ideals

How high
Does your bloodbath make you feel?