Bullets fly, like blind hummingbirds   
Impaling everything in their way.     
Sunshine occulted by clouds of smoke   
Lungs suffocated by the aroma of blood and gunpowder     
Crimson cocktails of fluid and muddy earth     
Bathing bodies void of life.     
  
The once peaceful village     
Raped by warring sides     
Collateral damage in the games of chess   
Played by those moronic cocks of the walk     
Who puffs themselves up on podiums   
Where they squawk like unintelligible Gods   
When behind closed doors, they shake hands with the gaffers   
Then sold them the same arms that choke their very own flocks.   
  
My heart aches for the innocents     
Caught in the crossfire for the sake of bloated balls   
For the life they might have led     
For the others they could have met     
For the generation they could have influenced     
For the difference they could have made     
Now wasted, sacrificed in the name of greed and the title - Cock of the game. 

Published 27th April 2016
Dup