Poem Hunter
Blood On Their Hands
(February/'47 / Connecticut, USA)

Blood On Their Hands

Poem By Lawrence S. Pertillar

Delusions are difficult to erase,
From minds nourished to believe...
They are entitled to take and receive,
And do as they please.

Delusions fed,
Can not envision concepts...
Of having little to nothing left,
To continue feeding a greed.

Every aspect of this consciousness,
Has been spoiled by intriguing propaganda.
And hyped to delight in another's defeat.
Without a self reflection done or apology.

But a brick wall stalls when made of concrete.
And hitting one's head against it,
Does not advance one to a conquering done...
Sweetened by victory.
As one would like to rewrite history.

A brick wall made,
And built thickened by concrete...
Only leaves a head beatened against it,
To bleed internally.

Since prior activities,
To ensure it isolates and stands...
Has been built by the very ones,
With blood now on their hands.

And drips...
Without consideration,
Of an evaluation to self examine.
And this has created,
Unhealthy mindsets that debate matter over substance...
With an absence of reason and cause.

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