Hate and Rage and Video Breath

They play video games, all dark and dank,
lots of blood and bullets and an army tank.
They’re wired on Red Bull and coffee and lust,
with a shot of vodka; that’s always a must.

Almost time to go hunting, time to shoot and to stab,
time to hide in the bushes, spring from the back of a cab.
Quietly waiting, they’ll target their prey,
keep killing tomorrow, start killing today.

Preparing’s a frenzy, almost erotic to them,
there’s the odor of fear, and the light’s getting dim.
Soon, blood and false courage will ruin a life,
Maybe someone’s husband, maybe his wife.

Sharp’ning their knives and oiling their guns,
they swill fresh coffee and toast fresh buns.
Breakfasts of champions, before the great hunt,
prepared by the young one, a scurrilous runt.

One more round of gaming, before it begins.
He’s explosively angry if the other guy wins.
But that makes it easy to seize on their task,
finding the victims, with questions to ask.

Why do you have more money, more things and more fun?
What did you do to deserve this, why don’t you run?
Are you frightened of dying, of pain, or of me?
Will you give in completely, will you try to flee?

The games work their magic, they’re ready to kill,
not seeking the game so much as the thrill.
Fueled by rage, thriving on death,
filled with hate and rage and video breath.

They stalk and they murder, slice throats and thighs,
stab aimlessly, wantonly, gouging out eyes.
If hope springs eternal, it’s at the moment of death,
faced with hate and rage and video breath.

Let’s argue causation, disagree on the cause,
while they rip us to shreds with their video claws.
Maybe it’s something unrelated to playing their games,
but let’s weep as they read the long list of dead names.

Children were murdered, snuffed out in their prime,
but these video lovers have had such a good time.
Could it be they were guilty, causing pain, dealing death,
while defending their rights to hate and rage and video breath?

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Please, comment on this post. Your response? First, you remain silent and then you abandon me.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.