Man Is A Fish's Food Poem by Kestrel Quiambao

Man is a fish's food

Eats one kind like a dog's bone
Chews his own soul under the cone
He sees the lights fading
Just like the sun breaking

Tell Mr. John Doe I've locked the door
Where everything is kept, from evil to gore
Compassion, reaction, what's your emotion
Have you dealt with your recent composition

Hard as steel of a human body
Traps the mind with a key of agony
Consuming all the stress away
With the forks and knives of Sunday

Abel is gone, and all is done
But our life repeats over and over a pun
Cooking our sins away with your sinful dream
And hear the people's whisper with their truthful scream

Man is a fish's food
Cooked under fresh crude
We eat ourselves within cruel taste
We become our own body's waste