Slaughter by Tony Ashenden

And their vacant eyes;

to me dull, relative

brother-like, unto my blood.

Lesser and labelled more the beast

for being servant,

yet I fear

I fit my moulding them

too perfectly.

To moo 

and peer moronically alive 

cross thicket hedge, un-decides

the place of puppet and the master,

their voices turn

the thicket’s harsh of prickles

and point their spears to Man.

I cannot divide the poet

from the brain

let reason coldly justify,

will not take the pound of flesh;

less my Alice 

lose the Elohim of Seeing.

Galactically

my one-eyed prism of awareness 

in their field 

sees acceptance as  

instrument of Right Order

in the temporal world.

It takes the fence of our divide

and blends the prickles too 

the slavered green of changing grass

and into focus

brings us less our lying tongue

to the point of light.

-TONY ASHENDEN

Tony is a seasoned traveller; a computer analyst, seaman, shaman, and a complementary alternative therapist. He is a writer of poetry, fiction, and non-fiction. In his own words – Life is real only then when I am. Please visit his blog Mine Quick Voice of Aquarius to read more of his work.

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