Roz Kaveney (rozk) wrote,
Roz Kaveney
rozk

THE POET TO HER YOUNG COMRADES 9

So many fights we can't afford to lose
so fight we must. With blood upon our hands
perhaps. Important each one understands
it is the fight, but not the blood, we choose.

Fight that's our dialectic changed to will
we do not fight to win, perhaps to save
some fragments of what Money would enslave.
Freedom and love. I do not want to kill

Reluctance has a price we might not pay
but others. Pox and ignorance and ash.
Unending brutal tyranny of cash.
Perhaps it does not matter what I say.

Blood answers me and sneers. Intoxicates
Kills innocents, yet throws down nightmare states.
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