In A State Of Rigor Mortis Poem by Mark Heathcote

We want to live life in a state of rigor mortis
But the world isn't dead, it's a living thing
It's got stuff we don't care to understand
And yet, it's a foreign entity to some of us
Who wants only to destroy or rebuild it?
That's where the real problem lies.

Try as we might, we can't hold the fabric of nature-
completely still. Like a pond spider on water
because fauna and flora are not like that.
So, you weave a spell that has multiple facets.
But in all seriousness, verity doesn't stay stagnated
In all truth, nothing remains perpetually motionless.

The world is halfway through its infancy
Its setting has long been in the Regency period
A time of grandeur and fantasy
Our world is splintered in misogynistic lust
The world our mother is expressing her love,
As love often does when it turns to hate.