Poetry

Desolate

Feed me hooman

For I am weary:

I shall not last the hour:

My bowl is empty,

Vacuous and forgotten!

Fill not, t’will be you who I devour

Warrior of the Desert

I kick up dust

And prepare for battle

My treasure is buried

Where no one will find it

Offering

Why do you not like my gift?

I found it myself

And brought from outdoors,

It’s not alive! 

….At least not anymore

It’s soft and still warm

And has just the right stink

It makes a great play-toy

That’s what I think!

It’s fat and it’s squishy

And has a long ropey tail;

But how you scream so loudly,

And your face is so pale!

Why do you not like my gift?