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From Moonday to Sinday = A Week of Horrors



On Moonday the orb above turned red,
To awaken the famished dead.
We've beaten them back ever since,
And still, when I bash their skulls, I wince.

Duesday brought the settlement of all our hates
The weaker perished at the gates;
The strong forced all within their gifts.


Woundsday followed with storms of blood,
Nothing could stand against the flood
Of wickedness unfettered;
It's power to destroy could not be bettered.

On Thirstday we drank deep of every vice
Each depravity indulged at least twice.
Then we rested, numbed and barren,
While all around, the scent of carrion.

Fryday came: we set it all ablaze,
Moving along towards some final phase
Before the coming of some closing end 
Chaos now our only friend.

On Shatterday we shook with fear of fear itself
Though there was no longer poverty nor wealth,
But mere equality of misery,
Spread far as ear could hear or eye could see.

And at last Sinday came,
When, properly accepting blame
We scant survivors lay down beneath an impassive sky
In weary hope that  it might tell us Why.

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