Drone
Drone
little specs down below
watch them scurry to and fro
streams of white and red
filling an ocean at my behest
with broken backs and crooked limbs
their hurried toils
are the subject of my whims
in my lands there is no rest
a slow decay, day by day
their bones will feed my nest
while in the ground they rot away
I'm master of fates
a thousand levers, my machine
safe in the shadows of fame
watching on from up on high
my belly full, my mouth never dry
with icy condescension
I hatch designs beyond comprehension
get them suited, get them booted
toughened by steel, broken by greed
for their hardened skin, their rotten toenails
I raise my glass to their travails
My glance a morbid curiosity
at their scurrying toil to bend the knee
exchanging lies by my design
pinned to a board, I pull their wings
my malice is refined, my face dignified
torn apart, they cannot sting
their lives are but fleeting dreams
Some burn like tigers
caged in glass
flickering with fervent purpose
until their future's passed
up and down the way they work
fighting their way along the curb
fusing their greed and need
working the line for chicken feed
with broken backs and crooked limbs
their hurried toils
are the subject of my whims
in my lands there is no rest
a slow decay, day by day
their bones will feed my nest
while in the ground they rot away
little specs down below
watch them turn to ash and bones
jump a mile
plunge headlong
you'll never leave
where you belong
Copyright © Frederick Naish | Year Posted 2025
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