David Grant Sinclair


they the people


they the people, united by flashing lights
huddeled alone with sharp words taken flight

they the people, who love things that do not move
and cower before them lest otherwise be proved

they the people, with passion for throwing stones
to hit any target except for their bones

they the people, guarding piles of shells
to rally against neighbor at the ringing of bells

they the people, dumb deaf to distant cries
but the belief that two plus two equals christ

they the people, praying forever for more
tithing thier children to the shadows of war

they the people, they the people, they
choke on thier blood like wolves licking a blade.

Submitted: Thursday, March 22, 2007
Edited: Saturday, February 05, 2011

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