Venom

Venom, a poem

VENOM

Us, we lay in a haze of our grievance,

Watching from the gray of all that enshrouds.

Piercing my mind, I stand and I project,

Devil and fire, kill me, and make it loud.

Something intramural grows pure inside,

A black venomous throat will become mine.

Soft as a mouse though big as a mountain,

Slicing heavens in search of my design.

And when the flames wind through a vibrating throat and reach out,

Anything living in the wake will burn.