bridged
while i stared out the window,
you listened to them
and devoured every word
not as dissuasion, but as advice:
you've become the plague of locusts we were warned of as children-
a torrent of murder-for-progress
plowing virgin fields to leave your mark
poisoning the soil with irony and sarcasm
this land was never your destination
where i saw a home, you saw only a road
stretching onward to manifest dreams
you are deep within the ecstatic throes of destruction
but i have to try to turn your course
"what are you running towards?"
"we are running from"
i am humbled, and you slaughter your beastly mount
and everything that brought you this far
"now, if you like, we are running from this,
but we will never return, so you may believe what you like"
and i take the corpses you leave behind
and make them look alive again.