The Hand Within

Photo by Jeff Hardi on Unsplash

In pressed khakis and polished shoes
They marched, armed, to the battlefield of words and papers
With clean shaven head injected with some chivalric values
To serve, to protect, not the citizens but the wrongdoers.

Behind the curtain of red, blue, and white
A rotten hand claws inside the hollow of those uniforms
A hand of countless rings, a twisted limb of a parasite
Dictating the mouths to bring the storm.
(“I’m on your side but this is an order”)

Is it a badge or an excuse sewed on their bodies
— or a paperweight, useless, but could be deadly?

When the hand within pulls the trigger
Blood would stain the fabric that clings to its flesh
Oh what an honourable duty it is
To let orders overrule conscience.