4d
Men plunge and ****** their spears into
Pointless flesh
You've let it in through your ribben cage, and so drunkenly judged this poor exchange
Of a branch's strength to a wrench's
More wood
More wood for the fiery eyes of the younger
Isn't it good
There's new flesh for the trenches
Whom with an unquenched thirst
And a gray wolf's hunger
Ignore the flesh, rot and stenches.
Pointless flesh
You've let it in through your ribben cage, and so drunkenly judged this poor exchange
Of a branch's strength to a wrench's
More wood
More wood for the fiery eyes of the younger
Isn't it good
There's new flesh for the trenches
Whom with an unquenched thirst
And a gray wolf's hunger
Ignore the flesh, rot and stenches.
RETROSPECTIVE:
This is us. Yes me: and most importantly you, my friend, reading this poem; at this very moment. Do you ever feel like just flesh for the ground, or for some digestive tract to consume? Well, I think you might be missing an important part of your life. Well, I say missing, but I think you might be stowing it away. Away for another day when you have time, and strength and vigor. But vigor doesn't grow on branches, nor does it age like wine. No you have to really face yourself and admit that you are lying. And furthermore and the heaviest burden, is to face the vast, resulting expanse: those who thought they knew you, scatter to the wind when you're true to them for the very first time. It hurts. It does! But don't stall upon your wings getting coated by mere rime.
This is us. Yes me: and most importantly you, my friend, reading this poem; at this very moment. Do you ever feel like just flesh for the ground, or for some digestive tract to consume? Well, I think you might be missing an important part of your life. Well, I say missing, but I think you might be stowing it away. Away for another day when you have time, and strength and vigor. But vigor doesn't grow on branches, nor does it age like wine. No you have to really face yourself and admit that you are lying. And furthermore and the heaviest burden, is to face the vast, resulting expanse: those who thought they knew you, scatter to the wind when you're true to them for the very first time. It hurts. It does! But don't stall upon your wings getting coated by mere rime.
