Tundra Swan Gulag
Down yonder, the killing fields of
autumn
sounding so apocalyptic, a crime spree scene unfolds.
Sacred ground confiscated, premeditated death squads.
Trespassing intruders, civility missing in action
from there to here, as the muzzle blasts linger on.
An eerie like fog camouflages the ruin
awakening a Helter Skelter moment.
Hark the sparrow, angels hide,
Tanana flats under siege.
Like a plague bubonic, it finds an epitaph of crucifixion.
Silence of the new morning retreats for cover,
shocked into submission from stubborn airborne concussions.
Such cowardly abruptness tells it all so sadly,
as this killing spree beckons obliteration.
Bringing a dangerous retreat, an immature migration
with the winged fending for their lives, aloft without a plan.
Broods, now without adult supervision, survival questionable.
Maybe enough nourishment to retreat to safer grounds.
But for some, no matter how healthy now in harm's way
it matters not, as shrapnel gone astray is sure to cut life short.
Like thousands of glittering blades sharp gone astray,
the ultimate by catch finds dominance aloft.
Below this destruction, the rolling river acts mad
as a morgue, sweeping away pieces of death.
Evidence tampering, to hide away this crime
once again, ti's the season some may say.
Said with a smile, bearing false witness.
It sounds of war, it is war upon the weary.
With each and every instance, non-existence finds success.
Wherein tranquility ceases to exist,
there must be some deterrent this inhumane treatment.
Of modern man against time immemorial,
ten thousand years gives us not an excuse.
With our black powder science to kill those so far so friendly,
our brethren of the fields and tundra, until now.
But for a moment too long, it is a nightmarish like ritual.
Red rain reigns from above, feathers descend, lost souls.
Beware, this mother of invention modern man,
this technology to wound the innocent without a defense.
From so far away, competition is this day's joke.
As survival of the fittest finds a mistaken identity,
Man's fascination to kill, without remorse.
It is so unkind this deck stacked, freedom now is misery,
agony, anguish, pain and suffering unusual.
Guns to wound, to bleed until death innocence aloft.
The bullet now the Almighty Amen.
Not war, like we have come to understand conflicts,
but war upon those that have no sense of war.
Cranes find their liberty in the crossfire.
So does the mighty swan, and all species in between.
As migratory paths become the byways for unadulterated hate,
polished so by a trigger happy mentality.
If this is not a sin of man, unkind....
sounding so apocalyptic, a crime spree scene unfolds.
Sacred ground confiscated, premeditated death squads.
Trespassing intruders, civility missing in action
from there to here, as the muzzle blasts linger on.
An eerie like fog camouflages the ruin
awakening a Helter Skelter moment.
Hark the sparrow, angels hide,
Tanana flats under siege.
Like a plague bubonic, it finds an epitaph of crucifixion.
Silence of the new morning retreats for cover,
shocked into submission from stubborn airborne concussions.
Such cowardly abruptness tells it all so sadly,
as this killing spree beckons obliteration.
Bringing a dangerous retreat, an immature migration
with the winged fending for their lives, aloft without a plan.
Broods, now without adult supervision, survival questionable.
Maybe enough nourishment to retreat to safer grounds.
But for some, no matter how healthy now in harm's way
it matters not, as shrapnel gone astray is sure to cut life short.
Like thousands of glittering blades sharp gone astray,
the ultimate by catch finds dominance aloft.
Below this destruction, the rolling river acts mad
as a morgue, sweeping away pieces of death.
Evidence tampering, to hide away this crime
once again, ti's the season some may say.
Said with a smile, bearing false witness.
It sounds of war, it is war upon the weary.
With each and every instance, non-existence finds success.
Wherein tranquility ceases to exist,
there must be some deterrent this inhumane treatment.
Of modern man against time immemorial,
ten thousand years gives us not an excuse.
With our black powder science to kill those so far so friendly,
our brethren of the fields and tundra, until now.
But for a moment too long, it is a nightmarish like ritual.
Red rain reigns from above, feathers descend, lost souls.
Beware, this mother of invention modern man,
this technology to wound the innocent without a defense.
From so far away, competition is this day's joke.
As survival of the fittest finds a mistaken identity,
Man's fascination to kill, without remorse.
It is so unkind this deck stacked, freedom now is misery,
agony, anguish, pain and suffering unusual.
Guns to wound, to bleed until death innocence aloft.
The bullet now the Almighty Amen.
Not war, like we have come to understand conflicts,
but war upon those that have no sense of war.
Cranes find their liberty in the crossfire.
So does the mighty swan, and all species in between.
As migratory paths become the byways for unadulterated hate,
polished so by a trigger happy mentality.
If this is not a sin of man, unkind....
CopyRight 2012 MSK
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