In the Committee Room
Knife-like straight, patrician grace,
Your gravitas the warrior’s seal,
The sun of distant battlefields
Engraved upon your marble face.
A volley of shutters and flashing lights,
You commandeer the camera’s gaze,
The senators begin with praise,
This bravest heart in freedom’s fight.
They flatter as they question you,
Your voice, intrepid, reassures,
The senators to you defer,
The glittering myth comes marching through.
Our nation is a shining sword,
We’ll civilize the savage land,
Destiny itself commands
Our sacred purpose be restored.
Far from the Committee Room
The shining sword’s a butcher’s blade,
The cord of discipline has frayed,
The guiltless fill the common tomb.
The guiltless who were in the way,
The blind, psychotic juggernaut,
The sacred purpose, all forgot.
And all for what? Well, who can say?