by Nick Gisburne
They follow, dizzy, weeping, to the light
A flock of starving orphans, far from home
She leads them from the miseries of night
Towards the sacred city’s broken dome
The war is over, faded into time
But these forgotten victims still remain
A hundred souls found choking in the slime
And she, their tall messiah, knows their pain
The border sergeant welcomes them and waves
They fall, relieved, exhausted, at his feet
He chains the strong to live and die as slaves
The others he will grind as human meat
Her payment soothes the madness in her mind
Tomorrow she will hunt those left behind
