They have come
In this twilight to a place where they thought they could resolve everything
The pain of the years, the grudge of parents, the fear of the dark vaults of envy
A neighbour fought to have his wife and his son dueled to find his feet
In this same place where everything seemed a landscape of trees, flowers,
Clucking hens and brooding energy
They came that all that the land had to offer may yield its plenty
With fruits that mirror their efforts like a mother in labour
They came with generosity, with hands ready to plough and eyes ready to laugh
And mother with milk and nubiles with thighs and boys with unashamed muscles
But when they converged and the meeting started
They began to see that the mothers were whores and the girls were quislings
And the boys were ragamuffins and the fathers were opportunists
Fighty and flighty, those who had conscience had no guns
Those who had guns had no patience
The meeting could not solve anything before
men fell and girls whored and
Blood spattered with liberal fury
They knew immediately that they had not come for a meeting
Yet with this funeral hues
They still were not aware they were in a cemetery.
They did not think they had met their end
because they saw a light in every bend