Every then and Again

Out in the hind end
Of nowhere I stand.
My heart beating da-DUM, da-DUM ...,
           In iambic metrical-feet of doom.

I quickly recalled,
The stories I once told,
Of sorrow and pain. 
           Though a bit bloody and quite inhumane.

Ararat witnessed,
A turkic serpent,
Creep from steppes due east,
           Gorging itself on victims in hellish love feast.

In Dante's inferno,
Seventeenth canto,
The Bard equates a reptile
           To tartars and turks in the seventh circle of hell.

In nineteen fifteen,
This genocide machine,
Was mowing down a race.
           Splattering innocent blood in God's face.

Churches were destroyed,
With mohammedan joy,
And thumbing their nose
            At Christ our Savior, without any remorse.

Same turkish monster,
Century later,
With a forked tongue it speaks.
           Deny that they killed Armenians or Greeks.

turks tell us often,
"No genocide happened;
No Armenians were slain,
           But we'll do that which we didn't do again."