A primitive trident spear falling into the cradle of civilization
Children we were, death a familiar sibling to us
Throwing the spear with all force
through the heart of a dear kinsman
Wind bent, Lightening struck trees
surrounded our attempts at settlement
No conscience for the life we deemed free
A nose for only aroma of prey or battle scent
Three prongs through the heart
We the primitive ones eager to risk it all away
Searching for power and prey like arachnids astray
Out of the caves like rabid dogs crazed
The rivers and tribes that fed us
Were tunnels crawling with every poisonous insect
Yet fear was still unknown, their bites tattooed our flesh
All of our own kin infected by a hungry collective insanity
Our blood tainted but it never distracted us from pursuing our prey
Grins and frowns and rocks in hands dressed only in mud
The chase the clash and the delicious flavor of blood
Axe in hand stubby knees and elbows as we crawled to the ledge
That hung over our distant cousins calm, quaint and functional little village
Falling like a primitive spear on them at the war call
as the northern ice finally began to crack and thaw
Nenhum comentário:
Postar um comentário