“Drones & Drums”

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(3-26)

 

 

The eastern world is on fire

Real-time updates through an invisible wire

Sending drones and throwing stones

A day of dread for dredging up old bones

The drums of war tempt those in charge

With defense contractors, living large

An easy task to convince the crowd

Till bombs emerge from beyond the clouds

In a distant land, dig those graves

A challenge for, this home of the brave

A tisket, a tasket, mayhem in the breadbasket

Ready mourners around the casket

This sacrifice, they say is nigh

Judgment comes from stormy skies

What was proclaimed to be a win

Revolves on its axis, an eternal spin

Piles of dirt and corpse debris

A tribute to this land of the free

Craters like a gaping maw

Pundits preach a linguistic buzzsaw

I might have guessed that the time would tick

Until Mother Earth became woefully sick

Her round reserve of nature, lost

A stain removed, but at such a cost

A king confined to his gilded chair

A nation naïve, and unaware

With strikers soaring on robot wings

Flocks of folly, with no ropes or strings

Coming this way, coming that

A golden dividend, on a welcome mat

Pinned and held for long enough

To prove the worth of sterner stuff

Fiddle while the empire burns

In perpetuity, the world will turn

A globe that gleams with crimson red

A skeletal figure in an unmade bed

Broken homes and promises, galore

A bonanza for the weapons store

Feeble fires of protest may linger

But those cowering cranks get the middle finger

Loudly expressing patriot glee

An anthem written of victory

Whatever price is tallied on the tab

Will be written off at the next party confab

A duel, a dance, a squared circle, defined

Loyalty rules the heart and mind

Do not question, what saints obey

Let the losers have their say

In the end, every compass calls

The direction where an arrow will fall

No doubt can thrive when the fate is sealed

A silent twist on a vocal appeal

Count the fallen, repeat their names

A roster of heroes, given up for war games

Mighty is the retort I hear

Gnashing teeth and grinding gears

A march of forces, moving slow

A confrontation of warrior foes

Blood and treasure expelled like dust

Cannon fodder, ruin and rust

A collapsing crest, no longer supreme

A nightmare ending to a vivid dream

A sword once brandished with fierce intent

Now a mere footnote of history, spent

The blue turns gray, as rain amends

What once transpired between feuding friends

No news is good, this I believe

Only the penitent will receive

A touch of grace from the creator of all

As for the others, chips will fall