I tender the ground so hard and dry
To ensure I grow the best possible
Seething hatred before I wither and die
The seeds I sow are created from pain
The kind that makes you soul bleed
And the blows of a fist over and over again
The nourishment they thrive upon
Are the salted tears of sorrow and despair
Hastily collected before they are gone
My fertiliser of choice not for the faint of heart
And the shit that I spread from the decaying dead
Give my unholy seeds, the best possible start.
So I tender the ground with tools made of bone
As I while away the centuries and beyond
With no-one else to care for, but myself alone
I care for my seeds like a father doth his spawn
To help them along and nurture and grow
With the ultimate glory for them to be born
So with tears and faeces I tend to my young
Talking all the time to them of the lives ahead
Their hurt and betrayal not yet even begun
So I watch as my hatred grows to wondrous heights
Seeing the potential they now have to offer
And my thoughts drift off to imagine the delights
I bid my children goodbye, with a blood red tear
As they go into the world to spread unrest
And a large proportion of unbridled Fear!
© Copyright 2016 Ian Dawn. All rights reserved.
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