The bug of indifference had crawled inside them

and they died 

a thousand 

monotonous deaths. Not the death of a star or an ember.

The death of a fearful and self-proclaimed hero.

A death of parched, desert-dry thirst

that all the water 

in the world 

could not wash away.


with speaking tongues

seek only to strip the flesh of things.

To wear it as an armor.

And feast on it

for dinner. 

Thou shan’t take credit for infection. 

It is not innate.

I will not honour your infection. 

I will watch it steal your heart away.



copyright C. Ward 2006


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s