Crouched in a tower,
observing the misguided below.
Snarling with teeth bared,
he licks his lips wanting new flesh.
“Idiots” he says to no-one …
Lying in the streets in worn-out clothes
memories clasped to his chest.
A child cries somewhere in an abandoned field.
Hunger is encapsulating the exterior,
grasping at the line of life’s support.
Threadbare and falling to pieces,
disintegrating hopes as people scurry.
Advertisements of youth, (it can be bought)
Shed the weight of abusive gorging …
Slender figures of maidens – smiling.
Comfort for the unseen but worthy ones,
like ants crawling all over each other
reciting over and over:
“I will tread on you to get what is mine”
Red Wolf Journal Spring 2014, and a fresh start
2 years ago