Friday, November 13, 2009


he listens to one, he listened to all,
too engrossed he was, when he himself called.
the man was now midway, in a meaningless chase,
looking behind forbidden, he could never retrace.
in search of a purpose, he cuts through the fog,
to humour himself, this dead horse he flogs.
his world panders, licks, whores and cheers,
choosing to bury, all their perpetual fears.
he walks in denial, with the neutered mob,
unaware of a tumour, the incurable slob.
the patron was back,to his insatiable best,
hungry he simpered, at the gratifying test.
red tastes sweeter, sweeter when old,
revenge served best, best served cold.
he died soon enough though, before his tales could be told..