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We are debris, dead-tossed on brokered wind;
Upon an ultra-marathon of time,
Blown back against a rage of souls in sin
Through extant vapors of pernicious prime.

In lies conceived and then deceived by light!
Our rabid hunger rueful and condemned,
We hunt as necrophiles of hidden night
Consumed by human blood without an end.

To roam alone throughout eternity,
Symbolic, soulless, predatory line
Existence in our own reality,
A self-imposed, completed quarantine.

We always kill to fill an empty space,
Alone, abandoned far too long ago.
A morbid, maladjusted, putrid race,
Beyond redemptive life: all this we know!

A beast of singular insanity
With gifts seductive far beyond all men.
Unnoticed in our suave urbanity-
That leaves all fields of kill for us to rend.

And now I scream in agony and pain;
"Oh God, thou hast forsaken us for naught,
While time to feed has come to us again -
Please send the victims life itself has wrought."

Learn more about this author, Tom Mcmurray.
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