Us

But when it is between
You and them
In the now and the present,
How long shall you blame
The faults in history
The phantoms of pain?

Both, things of the past.
That past, Oh human of the now
Which you've long forgotten
Conveniently
As you jumped queues repeatedly
To reach the counters of advancement
Before they did.

Kill is the call
Gag is the order
To miss is to die
To gain is to inhale
Pale against the blue
Pale against the green
The shadows of your growth
Are cold and stale.

"Plant an implant"
"Inject a sect"
And if nothing works
Opt for a penile (only erect)
The din has to go on
As quiet becomes passè
And you strain to hear
What you didn't listen to

Thud, thud, thud, crack
Boiling blood is brittle
It flows through the veins of time
Always advancing
Until the point of no return.
May be that is why
Time waits for none
Even when tides of blood
Froth at the mouths of guns.

Perhaps 'they' are just a number
And that is what they remain
Until their stories are told.
Perhaps 'yours' is not the only story
And there are more
To be rescued
From the faults in history
To be carried
By the phantoms of pain.