feeders
Bullshit reigns,In fields of rat,
nipping,pushing in rage;
Chaos thickens,
As others join,
Crushing those beneath them,
Bodies pile,
Food increases,
Old ones nourish new ones,
Why do we opt to be them?
feeders
Bullshit reigns,A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.
Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.
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