Between The Lines


Conflict crawls out of time,

wiping its feet on the doormat of Humanity’s back

trailing behind haunted travelers:

the Beetle of Death and Wasp of Destruction;

danced about by ghost girls

unable to forget their own posthumous miseries,

noticed only by those soon to meet their own end.

Reason to be grateful for some to never cast eyes

on that ragged cult of conclusion.

Not to be outdone by esoteric matters;

the Valkyrie is sung the soldier’s prize-

reward for the strong of heart and body

nothing less than a hero’s bride if promises believed.

A metaphysical fake; just another Banshee with a pretty face.

Victory is slight-of-hand.

The Red-Light blows out and the pockets run dry.

The bugs scurry behind the walls away from the Raid-ultra.

Humanity takes up the doormat

hanging the Closed For Business sign.

Conflict meanders down a sewage pipe,

tracking back in time.



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