Protagonist

Hardly clad the protagonist bled on his own soil.
Glared @ by tree-covered slopes, Raw materials for the alien race. The ground never felt so cold. Sometimes hard, but never this cold before. Tensions would eventually come to a boil. A mixture as ludicrous as milk and oil. A crumbling kleptocracy would take his place. A sick joke. Filthy rich and dirt broke, this alien race. And the protagonist would bleed to death on his very own soil.
Suddenly cold, he lay on his back and asked why, without the means to own what was his, and nothing to do but breathe at the sky. And that's how he would die, to the dissonance of a foreign tongue. Maybe 24 summers young. And so came the aliens. They built more prisons than schools. Lies opaque and see-thru rules. They brought a new asymmetry, wasted bread and poverty. They left their old to beg for medicine, while the bloated savoured venison. Ironic disgrace this alien Race. That fiends like this would take his place. And he was left alone to ache thru sunbreak and face the darkness. And he was left alone. And lying on his back. And breathing in and out. His blood would soak the earth and drink deep of the planet for whatever that was worth, And so transformed within a Greater Soul and rise and spread never ending once descending now united free to grip a torch and light it watch them poisoning their water watch them poison their own air watch them with disappointment and a far a gentle stare. But who among them notices and who among them cares As humanity is jettisoned - they mumble half reticent And they leave their old to beg for medicine.
Humanity is jettisoned
they mumble half reticent
And leave the old to beg for medicine.