gentry's prerogative
Lords and ladies have come
To talk more and then some
About the making of peace and war.
Cannon fuses are flickering,
Cannons are listening
For silence to speak the score.
And I stand at desire’s gate
My beggar’s cup near filled with hate
Praying for the gentry to relate
Before the past becomes too late
To stop war’s dirty date.
Now cannons are outside the hotel
Where lords talk with silence.
I can hear the hot breath of hell.
I can hear the hot blood of violence.
Now cannons are at the door
Where ladies take vows of silence.
I can hear the ghost writers of war.
I can hear the demons of compliance.
Now cannons are at the table
Where lords and ladies met silence with silence.
I can hear the screams of the unable.
I can hear the wailing stridence.
Now cannons have buried the silence
That fell from the misplaced reliance
On lords and ladies whose defiance
Of the rules of spiritual guidance
Opened the coffin of the unholy alliance.
There’s hot metal glowing.
There’s cannon balls rolling.
There’s a death storm blowing.
There’s silence beyond knowing.