29 Nov 2016 – Sonnet

You scream for war! Will your investments fail
if we forbid you grind our children’s flesh
to make your sausage? Victory your grail – 
not ours, not theirs – a hallowed harvest threshed
for you and yours – may both descend to hell!
The leprosy that gnaws your sordid soul
has rendered you unfit to ever dwell
in such a house! A shrine not made for trolls
but hallowed by the blood that paid the rents,
the rent flesh heaped in sheafs of sacred tears,
the hearts torn open by the land’s lament –
a debt that leaves the future in arrears!
Hell no! Play soldier with your plastic men!
You’ll never pad your wallet with our skin!