SKULLS AND BONES

A poem of mess
Of lasting pain
Symbol of deadly orders
Obedience to self-interest
Of the sacred oats
Tongue slicing
Sudden accidental deaths
So is the system
As the old poet says
‘The system is a fraud’
‘The system is a grave yard’
Stupid sense of patriotism
A misunderstanding of the word
Killing to please for the socall messiah
Why my skull?
Skulls of innocent bystanders
Taken on mere suspicion
For the preservation of might
To continue throne-ing forever
Extinguishing the lights of good men

The Bones of men
To deter the mind of would be threats
Of even thinking about talking, writing and communicating
In dissenting vibes
Oh you the skuller
Day by day, the force of nature stares at you
Wild and bitter
Pointing its venoms
‘The bastard shall have his day’
Under our grip
All the skulls and bones of the innocent
United and ready to take revenge
In the dark cold pit
Surrounded by networks of wild fires
No more aid’s to depend on
Just you the gone skuller, in the face of obscurity
Damn you, you men of twisted souls
By Suntou Bolonba Touray