Elephants Die
They hunt in packs
Alone they are nothing
The Bears and Bulls
Until the market crashes
And they are rats
They glow in the night
Red eyes in black shapes
They aggressively feast
On a moonlit carcass
In the clearing
They have appetites
They theorize
In mainstreams of thought
Prevailing in that day and age
They laugh at Socrates
Controlled though
Because they are seeking tenure
The old elephant bull
Knows it is time
To cross the River
Majestic and final
It reaches the scrap yard
Of skulls and tusks
And lays down to sleep.
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