Nail our hands to the barricades

so the storm cannot sweep us away

Hang poppies where the sun can see them

and the shadows they cast will light the way

A heritage inked with blood

muddled now as bodies are dragged across it

to feed the death throes of the machine

shuddering under the weight of a mortality

made into myth beyond the wings of dawn

Feed, feed the machine

and the shadows will not seem so dark

only we’re safest from the wrath of cold heaven

when protected by this gaping mouth

away from dreams of fire in the sky

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Image by MustangJoe from Pixabay