Swine
You are not everywhere,
Not in every hellbitten scowl
Not in every forced call
You never laid a finger on me
I’ve no hoof-shaped bruises, anyway.
How you spared the rod
In favor of your Acid
Hear my ungrateful whine?
Swine!
The scheming face of swine!
No I will not see a boar’s visage
On the strangers strolling by
But your squealing still is with me…
The way you could strike down
The inner light of a child
Is surely impressive but I will
Not commend you
On your handiwork, as I recall
Shiny, shiny new things
And the marble eyes
Of a mounted buck. Should’ve been
Swine!
Swine, telling me to eat my bile.
And though it’s a fable of a fault…
For such things I still apologize…
But the lessons, warped in their glory, still linger with me.
I am not omnipotent
I know not whether you believe
The slop in your wine glass is new
Ironic how a pig’s opinions
Still hold value…
Swine!
And though I’ll cup my ears
To the squealing
The noise reverberates from inside.
Inside! Inside! Inside!
(c)LuzBriar 2008.
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