Village

That dull plucking of the guitar
The crackling vocals rattling over the soundscape of fluttering
Bat wings that splinter into brown rust
The plucking becomes queer and unnerving
What makes you little ingrates think the gifts are clear and you’re so deserving
You’re not as worthy as me as you’d like to believe
Rutilant ravens rape the brain-clouds of the mendacious faithless little souls
That darken the land like a blanket of fertile soil
And gradual became completion
As seeds became new minstrels
They strummed at their instruments like it was all they had
They gunned down the insolent, fighting with all they could grab
And they robbed from the rich
And beat the poor through the ground
And bodies became dust
And dust became new soil
And the soil lifted away
And traversed like a curse
And your breathing those peasants
Each and lost one
With every intake
Every inhale
Why’s your face turning pale?