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/.

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