To Thonkk MkHead

Snort a breath: you smell his fear Just as he quavers, so you leer The earth trembles with each step of your advance Like little ants, perhaps, Or vines of watermelons, pluck each head down With your axe, the rain Of blood that falls but doesn’t rise In victory, roar! Alas, your cries Fall hollow and remind you Of the infinite, foreboding skies. With each life you make surrender Souls that stand in line remember Whether thus deserved or not, You craved the death, and then forgot Until, like pressing aches and pains of age The toll upon your simple brain Begins to open what you never knew To be a cage. To choose, then, and to lose, then Someday consequences finding Of the master and the madness He will never need reminding. Mark Burton Friday, April 01, 2005, 2:25 A.M.