'Twas the Fourth of July when the thunder rolled in, Not from heaven above but from bombers and men. The flags still hung proudly from porches and rails, But the smoke hid the sun and the screams drowned the bells. The papers all told us there'd be nothing to fear, That the gunfire was distant, not something we'd hear. But the rent had come due on the farms and the towns, And the men who had sold us had skipped out of town. Oh the mountains they trembled, And the rivers ran red, While the ghosts of old soldiers Turned uneasy in death. For the country they'd fought for Wasn't dying in war It had been sold out for profit Less than two years before. Well the leader appeared on the television screen, With his practiced cold smile and his old face scrubbed clean. He said, "It's a hoax," and he boarded his plane, But a bullet soon settled what remained of his reign. Then the columns came marching through valley and field, With their rifles held high and no...
Short stories, essays, ramblings, musings, and other such nonsense.