Poetry by Christianna Cannon

TO THE FALLEN

Long ago, you worked to rule.
You thought you had the master plan
And all the children, bad or good,
Why, mostly they died at your hand.
You worked the way you thought you should.
Hypocrisy that made us sick,
All working for the greater good,
Or lesser evil, as it were,
Above the world you stood.

We were all mad, both you and we.
We lived in fear of burning wrath.
With every dawn we wondered, then,
Would this morning be our last?
And then the sun would sink again,
And we would cower underground.
We wondered never if, but when
You'd find it good, and we would be
All murdered in our dens.

And later, you left us alone.
Finally, we could relax,
Yes much, my friend, to our relief.
But perhaps we were too lax
Without our fear; without our grief.
You were still on your power quest.
And every man upon his fief
Gave you everything he could,
Shaking like a leaf.

But something failed within the lines,
And you staggered, and you fell.
I'm sure you don't know what, yourself,
But just the same, I'll never tell.
The dusty books upon the shelf
Reveal the flaws in your machine.
In the end, no one could help.
The ultimate destructive force
Must destroy itself.

circa 1997.

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