“I did not see thee Death”
by Hector M. Rivera
I did not see thee death, as you stalked through distant lands,
you swooped so subtly low that blood ran cold to lead.
Men of courage forged of tougher stuff,
meandered down to darkened pits of rough and tumble bluffs.
If you had claimed me I’d been spared of War’s true awesome bite,
yet I see thee ever leering to lose me in your grasp,
but now I wander sleeplessly of others who have passed.
What is the patriotism others speak from couches,
they seek blood so safely spared from bullets cold cold kiss,
and when they play computer games they thirst for more blood bliss.
I hate thee death and elected foes who command from distant lands,
and sleep so sound on whorish beds and know the running joke.
It runs so swiftly through the hills it scarcely can be caught,
it screams for you to paint the hue of human refuse bought.
They do not bury corpses made, they do not know the brave,
They only leer from limousines cemetery black.
They only demand tribute the painted color black.
They only remain so far gone deaths head reels wicked back,
you instead, you instead bemoans the twisted wretch.
Take this infernal mess and burn it black as they,
so sick am I of limousines and pigs who ride away.