White streaks in the soft sand
Remnants of souls long gone
Piercing the light
In the darkness of night
Holding vigil for all that command
Unholy sacrifice on those dark sands.
Duty must absolute command
Sorry for nothing, furrow no brow
Masters of divine now in scowl
Unholy bliss lifting up
Only those who think of buttercups
Making us all sacrificial lambs.
Make it right, don’t deny
All those that suffer in silence nigh
Be nice, be kind
For your turn comes too
And then you’ll know
What must be done
For white streaks in the soft, soft sand.
© Patrice Clarkson – 2011