Give a Dog a Bone

Ashes to ashes.

dust to dust.

We have become

what we must

to endure

each other's

broken trust and ruses.

By God's good grace

I will not engage in these games.

Nobody's clever.

Nobody's sane.

Nobody's better.

Nobody's witty.

No one's a poet.

But nobody knows it.

Rabid dogs

scrap for a bone.

Strength, size, speed, cunning.

Each a stunning advantage

over another.

Conquest is a momentary illusion

on the battlefield.

And the dust never settles amongst these

scuffles in the dirt.

Incrementally murdered rose petals

grinded, minced under cutthroat paws

The victors emerge dead

finally free from it all.

Are we the keepers of these untamed beasts?

Or are they merely

consequence of the sullied streets?

By God's good grace

mine own is not violating you

to shreds of filth

because a dilating spirit is in place

spreading over my will

and turning my Love around

to spill

unto even the wicked.

There is justice approaching

in the air

and we are choking.

But I'm hoping

that you'll trust in me

to hold your hand

my friend...

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