PARODY Poem: Santiago the Moor-Slayer, by Ryan Larson

We were getting badly whipped.
The arrows turned, the lances slipped,
the blood congealed upon the stones
and thick like honey, damped the bones;
Our goddess, justice, turned her head
and wept before the mounting dead:
“Oh how can such an evil sin
Be rent upon these gallant men?
Their courage boundless, arms secure
yet doomed to die in holy war–”
I looked into the moiling mass
and saw the dreadful cannon blast
that smote upon the countryside
and threw the limbs and heads aside
and now the godless moslem horde
was rolling down with lunging sword–
I could not bear to look again.
I knew we were the last of men
I turned to pray for easy death
when there upon a jutting crest
The Holy Man of God Appeared!
Twas Santiago, loved and feared
that holy man, that sinner’s bane–
I knew the fight was ours again.
And sure enough, he surged ahead
and trampled on the moslem dead:
“No more beasts will end our lives!
No more will they take our wives!
No words be in that Satan’s tongue!
No evil godless songs be sung!
For God, for Jesus up above,
for peace and for America!”
And with that ringing cry he went
and fell upon the battlement;
our men could scarcely match his stride,
in minutes, all the beasts had died.
Our goddess, justice, stood in awe
and rand a joyous vict’ry call
and gave a prayer for all our dead
and spat upon a moslem’s head.
And I beheld our lovely, pure
and gentle saviour, drenched in gore,
and said, “This man is surely blessed
to steal us from our certain deaths;
for I know that a man is judged
by what he’s worth in moslem blood.”
And then down in the battlefield
our Santiago prayed and kneeled,
ascended high, and as he went
cried out: “God bless the President!”
The celebration went for days;
we sang and slurred our songs of praise,
we did not bury moslem dead
but threw them in the sea instead,
and then we went in victory
and took the moslem towns with ease
and burned the houses, stole the wives
and christened them our holy prize.
Yes, every war’s a holy war,
every sinner’s death is pure,
for God loves everyone, but then,
He mostly loves Americans!

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Author: poetryfest

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