When those twenty million gallons of agent orange were sprayed,
a lasting gift from that great harlot, those barbaric war lords brayed,
so many weapons of mass destruction, readily used with harmful intent,
on Vietnamese people, both Viet Cong and Viet innocent,
leaving so many poisoned, multitudes of dead and crippled for life,
stripping vibrant jungle of being, demanding destruction and strife,
as is that pernicious agents very nature,
autographed in orange with a lasting horrid future,
artful lethal compounds, such morbid conjecture.
Still three million innocent children live rough,
all those others too, that have lived long enough,
growing into adulthood, after agent orange stopped falling,
unable to cope in normal, institutionalized by some kind calling,
some effort, little medicine, some compassion, so heartfelt,
beyond that toxic substance, with invasive dioxins, horribly dealt,
those chemical companies producing, not ever owning up, even yet,
forever, "It's not our fault, the army paid us handsomely, you bet!"
"Our armed forces needed, just another weapon of war, so we could live free!"
Planes dousing mischief onto trees, drenching all the birds and the bees,
raining down on green lavish jungle, onto what was never negligible,
on once happy Vietnamese, folk simply growing rice and vegetable.
Agent orange, eradicating foliage, annihilating flora and fauna,
wrecking birds and fish, insects and mammals, all that jungle manna,
wiping out goodness in Asian gardens, extirpating soil with a shocking tide,
creaming life out of the place, dreaming ruined lives, obliterating countryside,
disfigured babies, deformed DNA that be born, life struggling in heroic ways,
trying to survive, wanting breath and hearing, simply seeing, praying for better days,
 to have a body, with arms and legs, fingers and toes,
as God and nature intended, beyond unjust travesty, so it goes and so it goes.
War in Vietnam, initial reports in 1965, a 'police action', so that cover-up declared,
war in every corner of the earth, war war and war, no wonder the world is always scared,
strife forced on normal people, compelling nations, strong-arming government,
ferociously coercing mother earth, Gaia to bend, as if ecosystems do not care they're rent,
insisting violence mar religion, violate the world, simply because,
simply because, simply because, red plagues they cause,
hammers and sickles, those unions and peasants and workers,
that red myth, bullet holes spewing red blood from all those dissidents and shirkers.
Life splattered from ripped veins and arteries, while justice cowered deathly still,
politicians and generals, carving flesh from wailing turf, destroying every rise and hill,
burning villages, cities and jungles, wasting women and children, both young and old,
leaving devastation, total destruction in their wake, with their twisted wartime mold,
creating more dissent and hatred, making all the world despise and loath them,
heartless commanders in their shallowness and malice, unoccupied by zen,
in their odious nature, forgetting nations won't forget, people shall never forgive,
those many travesties, year after year, poured out on the earth and all that live,
their evil and warfare, all that carnage and demolition, demanding a definitive rout,
dreaming up battle plans, nightmares for the world, to sweat and scream about,
while compassion and understanding is torched, so ever wrong,
with each conflagration, without respect, or any happy birdsong,
without prayers, void of God's assent, without a trace of humanity,
with their lost souls relishing all that immoral wicked travesty,
immersed in their depravity, soaked and cloaked, in all their heinous villainy,
dropping bombs, causing death that makes them smile, all that planned tyranny.
"I love the smell of napalm in the morning", so commanders claimed,
eating bleeding hearts, breakfast for champions, all their contempt unchained,
spouting lies and falsehoods, about glory and patriotism, part of their subversive game,
demanding villages be blown up and burned, while the moon goes black with shame.
All that Vietnam, untold atrocities, as corporate consumers plead, all that rigid starkness,
ignorance ne'er belayed, without guilt or disgrace, into night, into darkness,
further into hell, while freedom and purity, savaged like hungry ghouls and ghosts,
ravaged and strangled by the neck, unceremoniously hung from city lamp posts,
that no longer shine, from sorry trees and goalposts, that no longer feel any humility,
until all those burning children, crucified men and individuals, executed without civility,
so many shot in the head, strafed and bombed into bloody, bits blown all around,
now laying mortified and grieving, moaning below the weeping ground,
buried deep beneath, entombed in that moist and melancholy Asian soil,
crypts that shall never forget, can never forgive, result of all that moil,
waiting for the wrath of God, retribution against that invading horde,
trusting in the word of God, "for vengeance is mine" saith the Lord.
In time, all that harlot's assumed greatness and fiendish haste,
nefarious taste, reformed into towering pillars of salt and toxic waste,
consumed by greed, shocked by caustic chemical corruption,
perishing, shall rot away into nothingness, a just submission,
in godforsaken vestibules, uncertain and forsaken,
where devilish plots are contrived and undertaken,
scheming in bunkers, all that is agent orange, bombs and guns,
more deplorable war, setting another stage for further runs,
drawing another curtain, for the blind to gaze through,
with their big heads stuck deep in the sand, it's true,
while all those dead Vietnamese, so many other nations,
smile at their destruction, at their folly, from foreign stations,
while the humorous sun does a double-take,
in this lasting winter, for our sad world's sake.
Kneeling in that Holy place,
Jerusalem, a virtuous space,
that new peace,
dome of the rock,
a wailing wall,
so much hope,
so much prayer,
so many folk,
with so many cares,
courageous acts and faithfulness,
wanting in their bleeding hearts,
living life with all its good parts,
good neighbours, live and let live, forever,
maybe not yet dear God, conceivably never.
Perhaps only when the sun turns its face to the east,
setting an esoteric table, serving another pious feast,
all people cry out with fervent choice,
seeking freedom's truthful voice,
requesting true religious faith, not folly,
oh sacred sacred and holy holy,
blessing all those mystic rings,
remarking all those living things,
drops of consecrated water bring,
seeping verily from that deep wellspring,
all that rising holiness,
wisdom bubbles forth with all its godliness,
effervescent with its thirstiness,
washing away all our sinful trope,
watering favourable Eden with a cool spray,
overflowing with divine goodness and hope,
where comforting Angels come to pray.