NO RIGHT (for a free Libya)

Fouling his crawling pit

The obscene pretender roars.

In his revolting dreams

The dead still stare.

With eyes like crimson olives

NO RIGHT

Throbbing in his hands.

The sinews of their souls

Are infinite and great.

Do you call us your people now,

As the nation screams?

Lying, thieving coward.

Your ugly claim is disallowed.

It never was a right.

You inflicted it with pain.

Dressed up like a roach,

A scuttling, deviant parasite

Who defecates with words.       © Will Barton 2011       Click on images to enlarge

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