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Infestors, Unbidden Harvesters
Infestors in our lives abound
In our pleasure, our leisure, our treasure
Found on the ground our feet pound
In the illusion seizure and amnesia
We grow when blows
Whip us at the core of our faith
When sorrow throws
With fast breath
On our neck they breathe
Our bliss to steal
In their seethe
Of anger they deal
With a smile on the face
They show and draw
In depth and on the surface
In each claw bereft of law
In your flesh they sink
With rolling eyes
To blink, wink and clink
In the pyres, in the fires
They light without a fight
Giggling, wriggling
As their grip grows tight with every bite
Infestors sting in their bling, on their wing as to your sorrow they cling.
Copyright ©
John Sensele
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