Mad Gone

Rookie (Date escapes me! / Belfast)

Mechanical Matchstick Men - Poem by Mad Gone

Mechanical matchstick men,
Cogs in the wheels of time.
Lightly oiled and in long need of service.
Turning, turning slowly turning winding down.
God’s wondrous plan all but soiled.
Conditioned, programmed children,
Manufactured to keep the machine from grinding to a halt.
Uninformed media used to set the tone of condemnation,
Reportable lack of fodder and lambs to the slaughter.
Young Brian, young man in his prime.
Caught up in a promising and exciting time of action in far off lands.
Trained with out dated and ageing men.
How to fight and defend.
Give the boys some toys to play with.
Send them over to Hellmann province
Instruct them to kill the so called enemy?
The knife hovers and waits to plunge for so many.

Matchstick dogs and lifeless plants.
Emerge weakly from the barrow underground
Diseases left to spread, the most economical way.
Third world conditions in the western world.
Left to multiply and breed like rabbits,
Dull April, completes the circle full.
While we make hay and play,
Young Brain is waiting for the nod behind his advantage point.
He came home, broken all but in bone and joint.
Alas, the medicine is stored in the richest cabinets.
The cogs greased with human sacrifice,
Turn around the world once more.
Maybe Brian’s son will want some fun,
But he has seen too much for any part of him to return.

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, May 11, 2010



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