but the horse is
the rider blind

the doors of the weak
are always waiting
to be kicked in and
i have been promised
rain for
three months now

i have watched
the rivers fade to

i have watched the
hand that holds the flame
reach out to the burning boy
and the smell of his pain
was familiar

the sound of trains
and the screams of young girls
as the showers were
turned on

this is destruction
far beyond the feeble scope
of god

do you understand?

the mother is starving
and has nothing to eat but
her child

the child is sick
and will be dead before
the season of famine
is over

if the word you choose is
there will be no one
with the courage to

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