Within the simple heartbeat prowls a spell
Which hunts a tender cage in which to dwell
To resonate its richness: share its thrall
And claw dank loneliness from chosen voids.
It is a predator, and rest assured
Creature for which we pine is just as fell
As any carnivore of which they tell:
For mercy not in repertoire at all.
It strikes in seedy club and idyll dell
And tears internal organs, hope smoke-cured,
From bloody carcases as once it buoyed
Such viscera on optimistic swell.
It’s not that beast will drag all hearts to hell;
It merely rings for “self” that last death knell.
Copyright © Perry McDaid | Year Posted 2014