The call of hunger punctures this, our center, as scoundrels polish the machinery of coldness splashed over every beautiful and birth-riddled thing. Again and again it calls to us with a sirens’ whisper.
© 2009 mrp/thepoetryman
(The Weaver's Song)
"The machinery of coldness"
ReplyDeleteIt is what sustains the heartless and those without conscience or empathy.
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I suppose then that the upcoming winter is the season of recruitment.
ReplyDelete