Gord

2017-09-12 09:42 am

Swords filed down to soot,
Roses thrown at their feet.
No proof of their misdeeds,
Long Forgoing unlikely heroes,
The Earth rolls on it's shape,
Divides by zero then escapes,
Sequence complete,
Even if it seems short of an era.

Could I program a world so full hate?
Only more divisive,
 with my heart to feint on;
Should I find a brush to paint,
I could not,
Nor would I make clay forms,
And force them to mate,
As Satan does.

Who more lovingly than I,
Is timed less?
I would laugh at the sheer thought.
Cakes of dirt and mud pies,
Fed to a princess,
For the world outside she knows not of,
What a austere world to take from.