75.

They that eat the land

leave nothing but scraps

for the dead, they that

spill the blood of ghosts

have small compassion

for the children the wars

have left, they that absolve

themselves for all they have done

and blame those who strike back

after all this time, excuse

tyranny and death, as if they were

wind in the grass. Peace and stillness

may be the image of our sleep

but be the freehold of our peace.