the world strangles on its sin

and everyone is the lynch mob

tightening the noose on it


where that fiery sword

to cut the rope and astonish

the blood-thirsty


how long must we grovel

at the mercy of creation?

as long as we're here


we fall and crumble

at the foot of something

that has nothing for us because we crumble


perhaps it's better we don't know when

that fiery sword comes swinging in earnest...





Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.