October 13, 2007

• Down the stream, afloat once more
  Sink below, scraping gore
  Against the rocks and through the trees
  Thickest water of putrid disease

  A fight well fought is one not all
  Memoirs of struggle have been dissolved
  In the end as you may see
  Bees always flock to the sweetest of rot
  Covered in feathers, blood, mucus, snot

  Silly fool, open your eyes
  Arise dead corpse, no longer a disguise

  We had, but one more thing to say
  These simple words stung and burnt throughout the days
  If one soul were to have loitered about that time
  Pillage or not, surely you may hear me clearly
  These last seconds, to sing my rhyme

  But, it’s no use! What’s done is done
  The mystery for us simply cannot be sung

  Open the creaking door if you can
  Remnants of illnesses of silence so bland

  A corpse, a corpse
  Clearly beating
  Mangled limbs of death, deceiving
  Tongue ripped off and throat done bleeding
  What is more, this state of gore
  Upon one’s hatred to even the score

  Charitable life, given a last
  Generous one may say, killing was a blast
  How sadistic, cruel, and unusually brutal
  Only some may dream, for such decadence is futile
  To break one’s bones upon iron and steel
  Remove such flesh, some would fancy a feel
  Trickling life, blood gone awry
  To cast life away, entranced within one’s folly

  Torn into tatters
  Beast upon death
  Corpse upon corpse
  Food for the pests

  Once all is gone, say no more
  The vengeance is done
  Regretful to say it has never been sung
  As bones so dry sink into the earth
  Upon new kin, growth and birth

  • 3:17 pm
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