CARNAGE

It's my first poem in months, so just chill.

is it what we do not see
that will devour and deplete
what is left of dignity
and the thrones of deity

Is it what we do not heed
that will plant the docile seed
of being grown, militant force
that asphyxiates the pores

From the mouths of the naive
is what only they believe
Confronted otherwise they lash
out, deny, hold strong to trash

In a such perpetual motion
comes along a repetition
Life, death, rewind, play
The night, for evermore brings day

In such a neat and average room
One finds darkness, terror, gloom
Not a sight e'er seen by many
in mutual, matches uncanny

In such smoothly painted walls
and the wallpaper-clad halls
He who thinks, sees blood and poems
etched mourningly into the homes

Is this scent of memory
Or evidence of killing spree
Forced rhymes and lies of dreams
slunk in slowly from the seams

Is left, what the wrecking ball
didn't hit, and didn't fall
upon, having seen one savage
this is perfect-- this is carnage.