As you walk through the city street
there's something that you may not know.
What's going on under your feet
only metres down below.
Life is multiplying fast,
migrating sometimes up above,
to forage through your garbage bags
gathering the free food that we all love.
We carry with us little friends
that pack a really powerful punch
and there's nothing they appreciate more
than human blood for their lunch.
With the lesson of the past forgotten
by you humans up above
where millions died because of filth
and everyone lost someone they'd loved.
Yet still you throw away your waste,
you leave it lying on the street.
Disease is on it's way to you you
from little forager under your feet.
Call this disease what err you will.
Black-death, the pox but it's on its way
and all because you can't be bothered
but in the end it's you who'll pay.
In the meantime we will breed en-mass,
our babies growing, getting fat
and all can deliver to you this fate.
I really do love being a Rat.
Sometimes i wish life could be easier:
i wish that i could live in a cabin in the moutons of Austria,
where snow blocks all the roads,
and the only company i have are deer and birds maybe the odd bear,
i wish for peace and tranquility,
for a time where everything just stops moving so fast.
i wish for a place where even the most mundane jobs take hours,
like chopping wood for the stove,
hunting for food,
foraging for sweet berries,
making everything yourself,
i wish for a time where i can just be at rest and not worry about coming back to this life that i live.
my body is a map
lines and dashes leading to the treasure
that lies in my chest
not a chest of wood and brass, bolted together and sealed with a secret..
but more of an empty cavity where the ultimate gold is finding a heart
that beats with such fire and passion that even the roughest and toughest of outlaws
secretly hope they do not have to come across such a prize
for what do you do with love?
wandering the almost deserted beach
linen slacks turned up to
the knees and a flowing
shirt that flags out behind her.
hat in hand she stoops and rifles through the firm tideline sand and deftly flicks her treasure into a plastic blue bucket. her feet shift to accomodate the salt water wavelets that play tag
with her manicured toes.
she glances sideways at the sea
judging time and tide
as she gathers her bucket
destined for the dinner table.