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Hell-Tended
Clamor all you animals,
traverse at your behest.
Move at step with apprehension
and wits upon your wrists.
Eat the hills at basis with
the deepest roots you may disquiet,
and drink them dead and tear them loose
and the chew the dense defiant.
Empty pockets in reserve of
rains that belched upon the meadow
loosened by the shredded mounds of
dirt that's clenched between your jaws.
Soon your feast may pierce the walls that
they preserve to hold the quiet,
casting deep their doubts emboldened;
forcing those so meek to flee.
Stood the pillars in neat formation,
cast in iron wrought by flame -
quickly torn in severed, sent,
and soon displaced by those hell-tended.
