War of the World III
By Seana Sperling

News--not so new anymore.
Repetory theater, or programming,
The media assails us with images.
In the wake of trembling monoliths,
The sky is darkened from the funeral pyre.

Accompanied by jingoistic harmonies,
The pundits redistribute Social Security.
It's only surplus, after all.
Youth congregate in uniform and new metal,
Another surplus, we've held in reserve.

While forces gather in the Dead Sea,
The life I've known becomes ephemeral,
Just another thing left unfinished,
Among the debris.

While the Pentagon hatches greater strategies,
The stream of reports coincides with,
The right thinking population,
And leaves the left perplexed,
Beneath the waving flags.

The forecast:
Cloudy with chances of catastrophe.
Chasing the phantom through a mire,
Of poverty and hopelessness,
The falcon seeks revenge on the indigent,
The available.
Ripping into still warm bodies,
Talons, rust-colored, stained from ages of tyranny,
The raptor consumes.

At the sound of the siren,
The bird flees, to return home,
And feed on its' own nest.




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