It’s simplicity
Its cradle and skill
Evil in bed
Disturbs your conscience

Born worthless
No miracle there
In delightful fast
Storm holds its vine
Selling naught
Desiring naught

Its words
     Sounds
Its actions
        Gestures
The beast fears naught
Unknowingly knowing
Swollen senses
Glorious aliment
For a crooked tree

Its breast bends
Its hands bends
Insults are loves
Wars and artifacts
Antechamber of death
And says naught

Not one will remain
      Responds
Not one will prevail
      Responds
Your dust will be eaten
By democratic worms
Of all brothers
Despised by all

Beasts fears naught
Nor life nor death
Who says?
Who comes?
Who goes?
The breeze only alone

Eternal
White on white
Atop the dead walks
A single hair of grass
Grows, lives dies
Beasts do not share terror
             Abounds in its symmetry

Without choices
Alone as the lone sun
That from three stars
                 It hangs
Empty and nothing more
All perishes
Something In the middle there
Alone Only

Embracing the extremes
The beast has been a beast
Over million a trials
And even then, nothing in the middle there
But the seen
Growing to naught
Perishing in naught

Beasts
Aware of this not
As ornament the imprint
Of its fiery tenure