John-Ward Leighton

THE SUICIDE SEASON

There is no rhyme or reason
‘cause it’s the time of
the suicide season.
Bombs explode in the streets
of Afghanistan.
The dead hoping to change the living:
for the sake of what?
So the sexually repressed
religious brain washed half wits
can get their ration
of forty plus virgin ass and tits.

Kill the infidel,
they scream
and we gladly reciprocate
to send them
to their earthen tomb
their deluded religious dream
exploded
with a five hundred pound bomb.

A whack job shoots up a school
and when cornered
shoots himself
one more murderous fool
removed from the shelf.
The why will never be truly known:
no easy clue to blame,
just some crazy playing
his own private murder game.

The streets of Baghdad
fill with the tortured
sectarian dead.
We were in the plans
to steal their oil
in exchange for a bogus democracy
and this is where its lead.
With pious faces
masking our obvious hypocrisy
we say they don’t understand
our style of democracy.

Another car bomb goes off
with a human being as
the aiming device
killing and maiming all in sight
like so many lice
and even the moron driving the car
knows this is not right.

Hey you out there!
There is no heaven.
There is no hell.
We are in the only time and place there is,
so chill,
and hang around awhile.

Of course there is no rhyme
and there is no logical reason
and I know this may sound like treason
but hey,
we are in the middle
of the
suicide season.