Ivory Flies
Oh the horror!
The pestilence of the ivory flies,
gliding down the wind canal,
feasting 'pon the grass,
till there's nothing left;
but a blank canvas.
Oh the sneezing air, we breathe.
the sinus poison wrought,
stealing warmth within our hearts,
corrupting frozen thoughts.
What brush can fix this canvas?
What thermo reads the fall?
What shelter saves our frozen skulls
...from the onslaught of the ivory flies?
Tis the end,
the bitter sweet caress of summer;
the violet roses I have grown,
smothered by this ashen canvas,
stealing warmth, replaced with cold;
...oh so very cold,
frozen tear drops do no justice
...to this cold.
The type of cold I've never known.
With a side of pestilence,
the invasive curse blankets us all.
I scream in terror
...as my woolen coat is swamped with flies;
those ivory flies
which invade our world and steal our warmth.
...To the detriment of the public's laughter,
I shriek in terror,
yet those laughing voices mock me with indifference.
What do they know that I do not?
Copyright © Michael Benkhen | Year Posted 2010
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