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Lynch

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First they build an army
A great white mass
With no particular organization
With one particular sanctified purpose
A motley regiment of
Grandfathers, husbands, mothers,
Children
With the same eyes
All filled with a flammable mixture
Of justice and madness and religion
Their fury grows
Pulsating red-hot through the pack
They fill their minds
With every injustice
Real and perceived
Their memories grow
And twist into dark distorted
Clawing shapes
That snatch forward
Leading them
In their march
Roaring and
Unstoppable as ocean waves
Rolling forward now
Power building with each
Foot gained
They come upon their brother
Flood around him
Spit obscenities at his face
Because it is different
From their faces
Kick him, taunt him
Praise the white man's bible
Give the children stones to throw
Then take the sacred noose
And string him to his
Oak tree
Watch the life
Slip from his eyes
Drown the weeping of his daughter
With triumphant cheers
The highest note of this most holy sacrament
The devil's symphony





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Vendetta195 said...
Oct. 24, 2008 at 2:39 pm
I really liked this writing. Keep writing Stephanie!!!
 
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