Here it is. I offer you,
every single one of you,
my bent knee
my kings and queens.

I solemnly do declare
that my unblemished honor
(not mockingly),
my death, my deeds

you shall have before your fake
Indian or Chinese blades
touch my shoulder
in heaps and heaps.

But I ask if you recall
who was knighted last?
The young boy maimed
for his country?

Or the drug infused star?
The crooner of old ballads,
the one who sold
one million copy?

Is it valor or power?
Or the purse trailing behind
the obscene number
that's posted daily?

We have lost our way.
We, the children who sell
in margins, in folds,
every thing and every day.

Truth. The air. The seeds of plants.
Justice. History. Dreams.
Contentment. Grace...
For a cold and damp spray.