New World Savages

We, the New World Savages,

Crush, Consume, even the dust

left from burned-out tragedies.

The crying children, imagine them,

Blown up and scattered like seeds,

Seeds of death, blossoming

in the fields of wealth, fed

by a stream-of-consciousness-need

for corpulent greed. Oh, but “free”

isn’t free, we’ve chained them,

hobbled, shattered knees.

Only to feed the Machine

that feeds Herd

that eats the Dust

of the Dead

Children.


© CGT, 2017.

Talk to me.