Poetry

Half acting you take
the broom for the journey
of doom.

In human odor, you find
a secret sin. In stampede
you may walk on the fallen bodies.

Between me and my, you
stand squeezing the lines
in holy script. There was no dogma.

Your image overwhelms
the prayers, insulting the
future of man.

Like amber encased,
parasitism, comes alive
with mass execution.