Revolution

This poem is told from the point of view of a Russian nobleman recounting the Communist Revolution of 1917.

NOTE: THIS POEM IS NOT MEANT TO OFFEND ANYONE. It is only a short poem reflecting the horror of bloody conflict. I like Russians, too

Feel free to post in response to it. It was actually published in a short collection of various authors' poem.

Revolution

The tide of revolt brings many sorrows.
The scent of blood fades gradually from the wind’s breath,
The odor of death draws nigh.
It is I they want, I they seek,
From whom to cut the fragile cord of life,
The fragile twine that clings me to their hell,
Ever so more dearly than the grasp of a mother to her child on a cold winter’s eve.
It is I they want, I they seek,
To dethrone my regime, to rape, to pillage, to murder,
To till the Earth with my entrails, and feast upon its yield.
Their anger looms greater than the tallest mountain,
Their vengeance more vile and rotten,
Than the putrid decay they set upon their own tables.
I must flee, lest my cord be cut by the sickle of their toil,
My brains be smashed by the hammer of their strife.
The tide of war brings many sorrows.