In the human silk
factory
the weavers do as they
wish
kisses of stealth upon
their treasures
thieves plucking
feathers
ensuring no more flight
they unravel the
bloodied yarn
whilst crowds gather
and applause
satisfied that their
own clapping hands are clean
the garments are made
the parade begins
no camouflage needed
with so much acceptance
'let's watch as each
praying mantis takes a bite
for the heads that are
rolling should never have been there
and now is the good
fight'
but the people forget
the coat needs many threads
a shroud upon the
nation
with each name obscured
