Lust

One winter’s day
Kids were being kids
In a colorful classroom,
When blood suddenly blossomed on the walls.


A moment that struck fear
Into the heart of a fetishist
Who had been stroking
His semiautomatic
Baby.

He sputtered to his defense of
His right to own weapons of mass deliciousness;
Blood licking down the barrel
Of his impotence.

One winter’s day
The chatter of children
Was silenced by the clatter
In the head of a death skull
Aiming for glory.

A moment that struck terror
In the hearts of the gun clan,
Who squealed like hysterical pigs in the killing crate
At the thought of losing
An hour’s retail profit.

Now, someday a Herod
Will reap innocent lives
By the heaps, useless and uncounted
And the nation will die.

A moment that will be excused
As the price of a Right, divine and unalterable
Which is the only one worth respecting.
So shut up, and keep your
Shaven head down.