Gentlemen, I've lost my brother to a madness,
A madcap vernal fellow wangled to wildness,
By a political rhetoric hinged on his undue ire,
A senseless call to action, to step into a fire.
To bleed stringing a schemer's instrument,
To string us to a fate of grim bereavement,
To eerie memories of him withing in pain,
Forgotten, crawling, dying, fighting in vain.
For agonists and erists who by night fête,
Heads and hands of the fallen at their feet,
Names and characters fading into oblivion,
Plotting a via media for their absolution.
And come tomorrow, today all forgotten,
We shall dance on the graves of the fallen,
To the hawkishness and politics of sacrifice,
Until next, when the bloodlust shall suffice.