Tuesday, November 20, 2012

3983. THE BROKEN LANCE

THE BROKEN LANCE
Those who, having shed no tears
over the land, go on their killing ways -
and went  -  must pay. There is no
broken lance to save them. I will
commingle with all their tomorrows.
Now, as it is, I sit back : not truly
thinking of them though they are
on my mind. Instead, while the
land screams, I sharpen my knives.
They have come and destroyed
all things : heaped dead Indians
'round their campfire rings; blood
red ran rivers with decimated things.
Someone, alas, must pay for this
horrid mess they've made. Someone,
alas, must pay. There can be 
no broken lance.

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