War, deep on the score of violence,
speaking a song, making waste of the night.
A sordid frightening kind of menace,
the hypocrites demand a latest solution.
More to the left, an attack upon the right,
fools of God and man, the institution.
A lightning raid, sights in the hoard,
wreaking havoc, a light and revolutionary.
Sleep tonight, for dreams in the ford,
save the child from every radical tyrant.
Bereft of democracy, a negation, sanitary,
the human heart is once more defiant.
Clear minds vanish, going terminal,
patriots and paradigms, forgetting the hero.
He lends a way, furthers the optimal,
a flaming baptism, logic unto certainty.
The reign of relativism amounts to zero,
winter's hell paving streets of insanity.
A longing without belonging awaits,
the eternal void, nil and fowl in the streets.
He has awaited the twin turn of fates,
every lie like truth, every truth like lies.
His countless deaths and deathless defeats,
his minions do not tire beneath the skies.
What force has a man against these,
fortitude and resolve, seeming ever the fool?
Like the stars, born, as upon the seas,
a multitude of follies, as riots of futility.
Victory is defeat, a conqueror of the duel,
without relish, but borne with fidelity.
Brian Francis Hudon
January 1, 2013
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