Lay waste




It’s not the answer to your prayers

It’s the remedy for your fears

It’s prison, not to put too fine a point on it

There are guards and wardens, but we erect the bars with them,
whistling while we work.

They glide among us, pretending to be something apart

But they are trapped with us just the same,
just trapped with room service
or with the dream of room service, or, perhaps even more luxuriant,
the chance to practice the
dark art of despise.

There are those elsewhere who manage the profits, and those who dance like funny ghouls on top that they horror and titter about in the papers.

But the ones between the ghouls and the riches, no one really sees.

Discrete as butlers,
they lay waste to the seeds of life.

About subincontinentia

writer and eternal optimist
This entry was posted in epoche. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s