all meaning is found
scraping the dirt off the feet
of the blind giants that
stumble around crushing
what is left of natural beauty

however

malnourished is the mind and thin
and childish and tired of we
who truly do live the land
and i could not begruge you
for picking your own last sunrise

who could?

every soul-filled puss-bag groans
at the sound of the rumbling giants
first thing in the morning
and only the calloused want to watch
the last sunrise, the last beautiful thing

die.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s