The Angels are sinking,
Nothing more than footprint-covered stains now
And the Devil’s hat is in his hands, crumpled, torn-apart
Actors climb and march on the stage
Blind, dead, mad, pulled,
Dancing with their colours and symbols, tattooed onto their foreheads
Shouting, pointing, spewing words others said.
Beneath their boots,
Emotion,
Culture,
Love,
Life, Human life
Shatters.
A child cries out from the stage, unseen
Never to be heard from again.
And as their boots trample the bones,
The uproar of the actors
Stands second only
To the applause of the audience.
