Hessian

In my mind there are the hooves of horses

Thundering against the ground

The flinch of predatory eyes

Criticizing some familiar landscape

As a hailstorm

On some freezing night

pelting down against the earth

in hateful ribbons

I fell them in our ancient ways

warhammer in hand, claymore coming down  

we drive them to the slaughter

patiently

in a conquest where the blade of my mind

is filed against the stone of my soul

there is something magnificent yet empty

in the inertia of our agency

in the wood-grain texture

as hard ripples of development through time

Why are we like this?

Why are we such hungry birds?

juxtaposibly Insatiable

As chicks in a nest, as raptors on the horizon.

ravens to the aftermath

of that which we were born to create