Malignity

I do bitterly fault your restless digits, slatternly time; Your agile dial's design I defy with mutinous rhyme. What's the veiled intent of your lightning procession, Against this snail-mover's beleaguered progression? In swearing truth say why your sight-eclipsing wings Party and feast and conjure merry over littler beings. What sadistic banquets in spooky nooks yonder, Turn your lot-dwindling schemes ever so fonder? It's true your snaring turns I strongly loathe, With damning sneers and deserving derision. What's that blot against heaven's sternest troth, Obliterating dancing suns on her creasing face? To what main gain do your life-slicing edges fly, Usurping innocent freedoms of humble breath? Your mulish cruises along snaky course-ways, Flare spite-perfected ills to slay slowing health. With daring tropes I’ll yet trim hours’ blacking crime, And I’ll chide the deadly glooms of carnivorous time.