My sweet lovely son,
Sperm of my sperm,
Blood of my blood,
Bone of my bone,
Gouged out,
From the heart,
And soul,
Of my very own being.
Oh,
That I could hold your hand,
Be at your side,
That I could enter into,
The very center of your soul,
That I could give you shelter,
From the perils of this world,
That I could take your place.
But alas,
I cannot.
Like young pups,
Having been released,
Thrown into the wild.
Innocent children,
Having been forced,
To make their way,
Into a world of thorns!
Naà ¯ve fledglings,
Schooled in the flag-draped,
Blood-spattered,
Bush-laden,
No child left behind,
Walls of academia.
Expendables,
Having been taken hostage,
By a confederation,
Of Napoleonic minions,
Jack-booted jingoes,
Fabulists,
Wagering that,
Our children,
Have been blinded,
Into accepting,
The rather grim reality,
Of monetary exchange.
Lads and lassies,
Mere striplings,
Seduced into,
Selling their souls,
To that of,
The highest bidder.
Hawkers,
Peddlers of death,
Bribing our children,
Asking that they,
Flush their consciences,
Down the stool,
For thirty pieces,
Of silver,
Cash bonuses,
Worth up to,
Forty thousand dollars,
Dangled like carrots,
On a stick,
For the poor,
To grab!
Ready-made,
Soldiers of fortune,
Hired guns,
Slayers of men,
Women and children,
Throughout the world.
Patriots all,
Each one,
Nothing more,
Nor less,
Than,
Just another,
Mercenary child.
