Bull Run

The drums were at the heart of war.
Two raging bulls were sacrificed
To Mother Goddess day before.
Their skins were dried, and dyed, and stretched
Within the span of single day
And now they pumped the blood for war.

They quickened to the marching pace.
They loudened to the flank attacks.
They deepened to the fallen friends.
They quietened to the fallen flag.

Two raging bulls were sacrificed
To Mother Goddess yet again.
The rebels did not want to risk
The wrath of such capricious powers.
Their skins were dried, and dyed, and stretched
Across a span of twenty days
And now they hung from ramparts tall,
Engraved with bloodied stylus pens,
Enumerating “Human Rights”
The usurpers would guarantee.

No wonder their republic humped
On backs of voiceless, blameless bulls,
Was overturned within the year
By choiceless, shameless rebels new.
And so went on for centuries
The practice of beheading bulls.
And now remains no fort, no walls,
Except the Mother Goddess foot
That stamps the fallen bullock heads.

%d bloggers like this: