The Nettles and Ivy lay hand in hand,
Mingled with the garden flowers.
Kindred and cosy in their patch,
While luring prey to their web.
The creatures with a thousand faces,
Welcome all into their acre.
Handpicking the ones that will serve them best,
While discarding the eels from their rod.
They lay in wait for their golden goose,
Then contemplating when to slaughter.
Brazen faced to no extent,
A mere vacuum behind the eyes.
Superlative to all, but to themselves,
As they live to serve just one master,
Morality and trust are merely tools,
Cunningly used for a just occasion.
The exception of which is commission based,
Shortly before an evaluation,
The question lays to you in wait,
Is can you hear the sound of thunder.
Topic(s) of this poem: Dark
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.