They will lie and impale you

Throw your bones to the wolves.

They will castrate and frustrate you

Bound for damnation.


They will toss you bits

Of mouldy bread

You will eat the shreds of

Flesh hanging over an open carcass.


Gorge your belly

with the repugnance

of rotting meat.


And they will tell you to be happy.


Be satisfied that your palace is made

Of dirt,

Your throne built from the bones

Of the dead.

The floor a sweltering dingy pile

Of crud.

Because it is still a palace,

After all.


They will offer you bare bits of change.

Dangle precious pearls before your eyes.

Taunt you with every sort of desire,

your flesh has longed for


They will beg you to dine at their table.

Make you an honoured guest,

If you will only sacrifice

And sacrifice you will.


For they will pour vials of poison

Into your veins.

Drive blades through your sockets,

Remove your tongue with the blade

of the knife

And toss the gun from hand to hand

Playing games with your very fate.


They will psychologically rape

The intellect out of you,

Shoot an arrow through your


Plunge the dagger through your belly

and skewer you like a sunday roast.


You will be nothing but a pile of ash.


They will tell you to sit,

To laugh,

Be gentle

Be strong

Move like a semi automatic sliding door.

All gear clogged,

Created on a factory assembly line.


Until there is nothing left

Your body a host for spare electrical parts.


They will chain you up,

Beat you to submission.

Lead you like an animal to the slaughter.

Herding you into maximum security

For safe keeping.


Your ignorance, the only chain

Needed to keep you under captivity.


They have fed you fecal matter

And called it a gourmet meal.

Clothed you in burlap

And called it silk.


They will thread wires through your ears

pulse you with electrical currents.

They will radiate your very will to live.

Steal the words from the tip of your tongue

and tell you never to speak.


They will laugh at you,

puppet wire you

and pull you by the strings,


They have made you into the byproduct

of their intention.

They will claim you were their invention,


And you will dance on point

and learn to laugh.

Move like all the other droids.

They will remove the very breath from your lungs

one tear gas,

one vial of poison

one compromise

one deception

one war,

one institution

one moment

one historical manipulation

one vote

one protest

one force

one grand consummate scheme at a time.


They will call it a Democracy.
Melodic Rose


Distant Light On The Ocean is an original musical piece, that I composed about two years ago and when I was reading through the poem, somehow the tune of it seemed to evoke the correct emotion for this poem.


9 thoughts on “Retribution

  1. Okay, so first of all, I see that long pieces are your signature – quite the opposite of me. Wait, you are a composer? Wow! Nice! Always cool to have multiple talents… Maybe I should come take lessons? Please…. πŸ˜€

    Nice poem here.
    It reminded me of ‘Fences’, in a way. You know, you lead us on, saying different things, explaining others and finally, we are shown something that might not have been what we thought it would be. Nice simple lines that could easily have been anything else…but you made us realize it as ‘democracy’… So, we will let it be.

    Cool M.R. Cool.

    1. Yes, I tend to veer off into a longer narrative most of the times… in fact I find a shorter poem to actually be quite challenging to write so I respect anyone who can express their thoughts in just a few simple phrases lol…. I love music. I think they are two artistic forms that can and often do bring out the best in each other. I am not a teacher in anyway, so I would not be a good person to ask for lessons haha.

      1. Ahhh, then we can learn how to teach so that we both can learn πŸ™‚

        You play instruments? I really wish I could. Once upon a time, I could play something or the other but age played its game and took what skill I had. πŸ™‚ But I think yes, music compliments almost everything else – especially poetry.

        Your spoken word might be the reason for the long flow that always comes…

      2. if you really want to learn, its not to late, i think at the heart of it, its all about passion. If you love music, you will be surprised at how much you can get out of you. I never really thought of that, but the spoken word, does probably impact the length of the pieces

      3. Hmmm, okay… *taking a deep breath… Oh well, let me see how to decongest this busy tangled schedule of mine. Sometimes it is gets so busy I can hardly keep my eyes open, talk less of anything else! Hee hee hee! Oh well. It is well, as our people say in these here parts πŸ™‚

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