Conqueror’s Caper


At dawn they pierce the walls,
Helmets dipped in dulcet twilight,
Swords masked in murdered song.
At citied center they gather: noiseless heart
Littered yet with too-stubborn cadavers—
Why do they not pass? Does hope
Require only fingers to be clutched?
Voice cries out, lists surrender’s terms:
Present annihilation, promised subjugation.
Older children cry. Babies laugh,
Too perfect to perceive. Vultured generations
Sleep in sky below. They choose
Only the choicest specimens.