Prayer of the Fist
Instead of trees, the stumps jut out
A field of severed arms and legs
Still bleeding sap. Instead of wind,
Brown clouds of nausea, itching skin
And weeping eyes. Instead of law,
An armored, faceless, watchful drone.
Instead of justice, just the moan
As one more body drops. The quack
Of liars with expensive hair
Explaining how the dead have earned
The bullets blasting through their bones.
Oh wrathful dead, oh mighty gods,
The truth has left this place, has left
Our plastic windows, poison wells
And sun-sick blistering black streets.
Oh gods of common courage, hear
And use our fear to fuel this fight.
Grant power to the upraised fist.
Grant strength to those who link their arms
And will not move. Lend all your might
To those who hold this ground tonight.
Christopher Scott Thompson
Christopher Scott Thompson is a writer, historical fencing instructor and founding member of Clann Bhride, the Children of Brighid. He was active with Occupy Minneapolis and Occupy St. Paul. His political writing can be found at https://alienationorsolidarity.wordpress.com/.