[Corneac]

“There must be none of this squeamish sentimentalism”
-said the paper to the poet,

Burn that noun! Gas him down!
and then fleece through his underclothes,
for shiny things,
‘a gilded rhyme,
a poetic clause’

so that in a hail of bullets,
and a Heil of Sieg,
we’ll have a pristine poem,
says the propaganda machine,

[Laughing Man]

Simple with lots of meaning...brilliant.

[Corneac]

Thanks Tyler! I liked this one, glad you got it and thanks for the comment mate.