Goya’s “The Third of May”

November 9, 2007
I’m next.

They didn’t give me a reason.
They didn’t ask me my name;
I don’t think they want to know.

They sneer and scowl
And spit their questions,
But never look at my face
I want them to explain
So I ask, “Why?”

The silence roars through the hillside
And awakens every creature
But none can speak.
And through the pulsing wreck that is their hearts
Steady, perfect knowledge catches me.

They laugh, and can not stop.
If they stop, they must answer.
Their eyes scream
What their mouths won’t.

You’re next.

We don’t need a reason.
We won’t ask your name,
We don’t think we want to know.

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