A tribute to the brave men and women of a beautiful country.
The Breadbasket is burning…
It wasn’t built to withstand tanks
and guns
and missiles;
A rich and fruitful history
is woven into its very fabric –
a noble people reaped
like the harvests they sowed.
Lies, layer upon layer upon layer…
a reverse-styled nesting doll
where
every layer is bigger
every layer is thicker,
every layer more brazen,
every layer more deadly.
The Breadbasket is burning,
Yet passivity fans the flames…
We stand together and stand united…
but we are not the ones torn asunder –
torn by plunder,
all to satisfy the whims of a greedy despot
that clings to days long passed –
like some demented, power-hungry relic
of a bygone age.
The Breadbasket is burning,
while the high and mighty play games…
Our very own are tainted with the stink…
Its hard to hold the high ground
when you’re sinking in the mire,
paddling harder and harder
against and endless current
that always seems to run
downhill
befouling the very gutter that you try to call home.
The Breadbasket is burning,
but the match too far to snuff…
The Breadbasket is burning,
when will enough,
finally,
truly,
at last,
ever,
be enough?
AHF Writes 