Enemies Dying, Enemies Dead (for the fighter, Bill Bucko)

For the essence of your evil souls,
Which hate American success;
For the foulness of your lying minds,
Which hate American happiness;
For your unconstitutional policies,
Which diminish individual rights;
For that malice of your being,
That would smash American lights;
Whoever you are, wherever you are,
We damn you and we banish you
From out the human race,
For you are lowest of the low
In your anti-human place.

You are against achievement,
You are against the good,
You are against a man who works
As honest as he should.
All men of high ability,
You do not want them free,
And civilized minds
You’d like to bind
In cells of misery.

The man of independence,
The man who doesn’t need,
You’d like to chain and bend him
And make him cry and plead.
The man who is a thinker,
Whose judgment is his own,
You’d like to drown and sink him,
And make him fail and moan.

But in your fearful mirror
The face you see is blank,
And for that dying emptiness
You have yourself to thank.
Your coward soul is yours alone—
The only thing you’ve made—
And you are in the killing zone,
Self-trapped and full afraid.

There is no light before you,
Your tunnel’s end is dark;
There’s nothing great to stir you,
No triumph in your mark,
But life that’s lost and wasted
In the garbage you have tasted,
Told yourself it was champagne–
Human blood of your own reign.

You altruists, you nihilists,
You anti-love-of-life,
You Moslems, you destructionists,
Who kill with bomb and knife
The innocent and beautiful
To give yourselves an aim,
Of evil you are overfull,
Self-twistedly insane.

Black, black, black the soul
That seeks others to control;
Vile, vile, vile the mind
That hates the self-dependent kind;
Blind, blind, blind the eyes
That shine the deathly shade of lies;
Dead, dead, dead the man
Who killed his self when he began.

Black, black, black the heart
That strikes its joy with its own dart.
Mud, mud, mud the breath
Of he who wants to live in death.
All is dark, all is nil,
For he who chooses evil will.

For the essence of your evil souls,
Which hate civilized ability
You’ve damned yourselves to nothingness
For now and all eternity.

This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Enemies Dying, Enemies Dead (for the fighter, Bill Bucko)

  1. Peter Namtvedt says:

    Thank you for a fitting farewell to Bill.

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