wrists shackled
screams and whimpers
the whispered caresses
of an indelicate glove

forced marches and visions
borne on winds of deception
hot wired minds
as push came to shove

this language of steel
sharp as grit in the eye
a game of blue facets
no winner handed down from above

it's
not so simple
with your language of iron
to pluck a gem
from the eyes of your love

openingrequiem part 1requiem part 2requiem part 3requiem part 4requiem part 6Where is my country?


©2003 Kris Haggblom