PROFITS OF DEATH

The prophets of death
Are making profits from war,
These monsters, evil smiling
As the death count soars.

Making weapons for profit
Profiteering from misery,
Loading up on dark largess
Rejoicing in human grief.

Vultures are flying high
Living off the dead and dying,
Prophets of death are rejoicing
While widows and mums are crying.

Widows mourning dead husbands
While mothers grieve for sons,
Vipers play the game of death
Selling rifles, bombs, and guns,

Rogues of every description
All possessing an evil mind,
Building tanks and army ducks
Sell death and evil of any kind.

The United Nations twiddles thumbs
While Leaders sit upon their brains,
Death merchants are smiling as
Putrescent corpses cover the plains.

When will politicians ever listen
Instead of acting like stupid fools?
When will they shoot down vultures
By bringing in humanitarian rules?

It's time to bring down the prophets
And cutaway the profits of war,
It's time to end all of the suffering
Spreading like cankerous sores.

THE END
© Copyright 2022 Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia