Bone Sparks
cold ogre universe
engulf tender stars
spit out the bones-see the sparks...
everyone looks toward the sky
says how pretty they are
complimenting the slaughter
how endearing and naive.
Pot black sky means the ogre is idling,
fattened by star fillets, it sleeps.
New stars are born,
honed with their shine
but when the ogre awakens
the bone sparks will fly
once again-
Birth and slaughter
hungry and satiated
pinwheels of time
turns oasis to wasteland:
This is the natural course of things,
purity always ravaged
by green-toothed savage
while the masses chew on
the cool glass
of indifference...
whispering bloody-lipped to the ID,
"glad its not me."
how endearing and stupid
can these IDiots be.
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