War Drones On

Fingers flicker on keyboards
Like cold bone digit vibrations,
They rattle on in clicking pace
For numerical destinations.

No more sitting in cockpits;
No need to leave your abode.
No more hand-eye coordination
When innocent homes explode.

Drones fly quietly in Afghanistan,
But nobodies in the flight.
Just the demonic payload
That will end many people’s lives.

Payload buttons are pre-programmed;
You get paid to type in numbers.
No finger prints on destroy sticks;
No view of victims slumber.

The planes fly empty like many words,
And morality is on the leave;
Empire keeps reacting
As deserts continue to bleed.

No words are found in the press;
Nothing makes the front page,
Just the quiet, flying assassins
Drone on in silent rage.