A Funeral

A funeral,

the mourners were a multitude.

But no one came, no one came to this funeral. They had all stood by and watched the slow death. They had all stood in silence and watched, their mouths mute.

Some had already given up and turned away long before the death throes had even begun. Unable to look any longer upon the slowly rotting beast.

The rotting, stinking, still living corpse of this country.

Gutted from within.

Some cheered this death, having hastened it’s demise. Unaware of the repercussions of their actions. Little did they understand just what it was that they were burning down.

Most though just stood by and did nothing. NOTHING! Biting their nails and saying it'll be alright, I’m not getting involved, it’s not my fight.

And Nero fiddled.

Some, a few, tried. Tried to sound the alarm, tried to fight the fire, tried to raise the flag of truth.

And still The Most stood by mute.

And so the great beast died, not the death of a strong proud beast but the death of a beast on it’s knees. It’s inners rotten and corrupt.

So now the mourners mourn and dare not speak out. Lest the eyes turn to look at them.