Lying In Man's Broken Own
Someday the Earth will open with delight
To eat its own and save itself from lust.
This murk we shape from life is vain and trite—
We bow our heads to the shame we entrust.
You see—you know—and yet you drive the flood,
You watch in awe with every bone you quake.
I scrape the maze; my nails are filled with blood,
I drag my legs throughout to find the wake.
And there—beside the preacher, at the end;
River snakes smile so wild and slither in—
To send us off and jeer as we descend,
Back down and through our frail tottering skin.
So all beware the fare you wage in fate—
And stare with love—into the eyes of hate….
