Pilgrimage
I rise from my feathered comfort, one only achieved with torture
My deal with the devil gives warmth and I shower until the steam tickles my throat
Long enough to wash off the blood
My feet are cuddled in bodies as I descend to my breakfast of victims
Washed down with the elixir of exploitation: black beans and mother's white tears
Satiated, I gather keys to the poison cart and join the other killers
Sadness and suffering on the hour while we monsters trickle forward towards the financers
Arrival and I take a dangerous breath, one I contribute to by my being
Working hard until lunch, when I hail Caesar and his cadaver accomplice
Back to the toil as the clones finish off him or her
I dream of my evening freedom, life releasing a whine as blood and root combine
The watched leg-like hand reaches the glorious digit and we rise
Herded up the raceway, I reach my stunning box
I contemplate myself and our species as we slow into the jam, lots of flavours but ultimately the same
I see myself in a consumers window to my soul
I question and define us, painful though it is
Destroyer through choice or willful ignorance multiplied in a never-ending stream of blood
Back at the cave my appetite has left, I turn to the box of distraction to aid my escape
Confirmation hits hard and I recoil as drought, famine and extremes seem a normal condition
If suffering is sought, we will never disappoint; as war rages, be relieved of your position in this rat race
Depressed I retreat, battered and bruised
Wrapped in softness I sink, deflated
I turn the sadness, pages of another life, and the realisation that equilibrium sought will never be balanced
So many are under the scales of the demon and equality is just a word with little meaning to the victim
I drift towards tomorrow feeling both sorry and relieved, sad but secure, sick while fed
The luck of my location means I suffer the least, how cruel and ironic this moral compass
The West is the beast, so many sheep missing a good shepherd
I finally arrive that tomorrow can be different, no need for madness as Einstein defined
I can be the hero of my little life, bee the change, from something I despise
I have woken I'm finally released, no joint enterprise of suffering, no more a sheep
Copyright © Aaron Mccabe | Year Posted 2022
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