Monday, March 23, 2009


Departed lives on the eclipsed morn,
Seeking hot blood, the thirsty thorn.
The dead leaves and a cloud of dust,
The man of iron now encased in rust.
Yellow blood spilled, the thorn defiled
It gave birth to a deranged child.
Death and destruction: the destiny of joy
The child grew up in a day to a psychotic boy.

The thorn still needy, the thirst for lust.
But it died of hunger, it died too fast.

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