Mark this day, young friends,
for there upon the hill,
stripped and barren,
stars no longer claim the sky,
but are trodden in mud
and rasping coin.

Mark this day,
for when you wake,
unbridled on the crest,
a scurrilous beast
shreds all hope and takes
a dream to its teeth

And vomits a nightmare.

Young friends, prepare.
For what is now unleashed
from its pitted, rusted chain,
needs naught but a hunger,
privileged and savage,
to take upon itself what is yours.

And we, the elders,
must stand in the piss
of our folly and failure,
burdened with all these broken links,
forever soiled, forever torn,
like the banners we waved, forever
in the muck of our graves.

Image: Pelly Benassi on Unsplash