We Will Now Begin To Hear Their Gun's Poem by James McLain

What now was wrong is right,
and up is down.

Soon the gun's that we will hear,
and all,
that you hold dear will cause much fear.

Can beauty pause, this one last time
as marching feet?
Crush U.S. the people that they fear?

Or you give way to what they say,
and meet your fate.

Woman will
begin pulling at their hand's,
of their husband's
and their son's
to keep them off the streets.

And they debate on dropping bombs,
on the women and the children over there
their not like U.S.

We hear the gun's, that the press,
are even now afraid to use or to U.S. address.

Concentration camp's and our bodies,
that can't endure.
Are stacked like wood and set aside.

We on an endlessly, moving conveyer belt,
where our bodies are the evidence.

They will pour U.S. into the burning endless
mouth, of a volcano.
That can easily consume U.S. all

And once we heard their mighty gun's,
now that half of U.S. are gone.

Where we are even now,
being placed on a growing registration list.

The advertisements that say find out where
you came from out side of the U.S.
and so you foolishly sent them your DNA.

And now they know just who you are and now
they know.
That your not white and Trump just bloats.

The introduction to your children's death's
don't have them now.
We are not yet color blind.