On A Tsetse's Sting Poem by Green Peace

Vehemently repugnantly stung
thoughtless, careless, aimless hunter
stung sharp and fingers swollen to
cylinders
a frisson of horror
the pain was progressively indescribable
heavier went its dignity
penetrating blood, skin, skeleton
and became numb, standstill as lead.

Submerged into a boundless pool of
quietude
smoothly stared and waited
frozen half to death
which past revenge, enmity did it
fulfil?
Did it satiate its simmering wrath?
And what did it attain?
Hearts jumping with fury
to convey hopeless venom
to the wicked inspiration
who conceived him?
knowing its aftermath?
Is it a pleasure or result of thoughts
impure?
Will it turn its destiny or seek dignified
demur?
Eternal sinner.
How turn his failure
into benevolence, forgiveness, cheer?