I rock in my chair watching my own dance
in the shadows
Eyes weary; but lusting to squeeze out
one small thing to say;
one morsel of remorse.
Gone far and away is the leather of my tear
supple now only to the torn sky of thunder
and giddy only to the laughter of Thor
I am the echo of your rancid fecal foilage
toiled while unspoiled by the wounded eye of a lie;
Fear: the genocidal traitor
lined to spawn more of it's own: pitiful parasitic infant coward
Go into the pathetic hall you call home
and linger in the moments you know you're alone
for Golan awaits you in its heights;
your apacolyptic night...
Alexander Pena
Copyright ©2002 Alexander Pena
written: Sept. 3rd, 2002
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