Pro Patriarchy Mori

So swiftly they run to the dark’ning door,

How swift they embrace the shadow-swept path,

So soon they set sail for the most western shore.

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How certain they seem, so certain and sure,

Seeking vain glory at the chilled earthen hearth,

Like bright burning embers, that kindle and flicker, and flash on the floor.

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In service of elders, who’d ne’er admit flaw,

They’ll take up the unlovely tools of destruction to service their wrath,

At behest of the cravens who clamour for war.

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The coat and the cap that their fathers once wore,

Were widows’ remembrance from last aftermath,

Are theirs now to wear now to show who they’re for.

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And hasten they onwards to brisk battle’s fore,

In service of gilt men with aegis of wealth, who easily hold at their hearth,

And tell them they must fight for those they adore.

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So swiftly they run to the dark’ning door,

Fooled to believing the shadow-swept path,

Is a service and glory for those they adore,

And widow-wept lovers shall see them no more.