The Serpent

Listening to the sounds
That footsteps make,
Through the hearts of lonely men...
We are serpents
In this fallen land,
We will cover them up-

Who amongst us hasn't felt a tinge of sadness,
Or melancholy 
That this day couldn't provide 
Or hope for...
Resurection,
A pivot,
An escape from hangmen-

We cry,
Not for what we have lost,
But what we have gained,
To forsake
All that we know,
In the coup de grace
Of change-

We are merciful
Only as victims,
We merit love,
Though we get none-

This is the last...
This is the last...
There is no hope,
In this rotting land-

ii

Picket Fences
Guiding the pigs to slaughter,
No longer human,
But the monster of our own vanity,
Lost...
Perpetuated...
exit-

(c) Mister E. of CiA Literary Productions
        all rights disturbed