Walking Corpse

Welts adorn the walking corpse

Blood seeps from cracks in his skin

Darkness swallows the air around his frame

The greatest pain comes from within

The loss of his family and dignity is the source

Signing his soul to Uncle Sam, expecting fun and games

War became hell, even from above

Shot down, the squinted eyes offered no love

Onto the rack, stretching and breaking his back

Cut with fan belts and constant beating which had formed those welts

Who would have guessed he would survive the pain?

Who could have guessed this poem is about John McCain?

A true American Hero, he should inspire GI Joe.

A true politician in the mists of puppetry and superstition.





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