War Child
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War child —
a painted flower on each cheek
a symbol that is all too opulent, all too knowing
for this generation to understand
the grounds for dismissal are all in order
live to live or live to die
while we are thousands of miles from the front lines
we still have all of our battle lines to draw
we are not you — inclusion is nicety
but you have to feel the vibrations
that’s where the real scene is at
Hallucinations are not a given
we can all learn to love without toxicity
but one drug to replace another
returns a similar consequence
put down your pipe, throw down your books
pick up a gun —
to each his own, but remember that all tools of life can kill
whether it is your bullet, copper or lead, searing through another man’s chest
or that misconstrued poetic line
that sends another frail soul to hang her head from the highest bough
you make love, you make war
you get pissed off, and a million pieces of your arsenal will be within reach
so paint a flower on each cheek, try love for a change
it’s not a fad we passed in our childhoods
it’s a consistent low hum lower than the pitch of screams
trying to stop another bleeding wound.
