PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

You say you have new methods that can train
a girl-slave to desire the kinds of pain
that you inflict upon her; to enjoy
the injury put on her by each toy,
each perverse instrument that you deploy
to bolster up the masculinity
that, in you, is a crippled parody.
You arrogate false titles, such as "lord,"
upon yourself:  these crutches well afford
you some semblance or sense of dignity.
You need all this to keep your conscience proud,
that you might glory in the ancient mark---
of your ancestry, from your forbear, Cain.

Yet now you shiver, as the day grows dark
too early.  You have never seen it so
much like night.  In the distance climbs a cloud:
and you cannot (for all your postures) know
its purpose.  As it quickly makes its rise,
droplets of water spill from churlish skies
accelerating.  This will be called rain.