Grimace creased with heavy pain,

Must be the speckled face,

With spattered shame, of he who soaks

in pooling, crimson stains.

While we watched, as blood drips dropped,

we noisily complained

at he who rended God and man

between his savage gains.

We didn’t act, nor did we track

his evidence in rain.

Like shattered glass, when storms had passed,

that man had gone insane.

Dazed, we stared,

a funeral procession gaze,

as spirits yielded, and morosely sealed,

a hollow, empty grave.

With no one left to blame,

as retreating thunder tames,

this truth dripped serpent’s kiss insists,

all mankind begins

to blankly count our days.

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