It’s hard sometimes to keep control
when the world comes to collect it’s toll,
but the world is such a massive thing
once its intent gets into full swing
because the world is more than it was
drifting from orbit to a new cause.
A harnessed thing with a barbed bridle,
the world gallops towards a false idol.
In time the world will get what it wants
and we will be the ones whom it haunts;
for once it has died a thousand deaths
the world will scream with its last breath,
“the world that birthed you can be no more
all life was sacrificed for this war,”
and the jockey will exclaim with joy
as it makes another world its toy.
But for now this world is tough to bare
as a parasite on a small square
filled to explosion with all its fruit
force fed in spite of the worlds dispute
so the jockey can address the world
with its long fiery cloak unfurled
and an old salt lick in its right hand,
the whip readied should the world demand,
“Woe to the world that has suffered such,
curse these people who asked for so much.”
Both parties will take from me their need,
though surely by now I am poor feed.