The Modern Beast
A beast now prowls the land, one whose name we knew,
But time has made us blind to wiley tricks,
And theived the guile of ages past – to sew
A fate befitting servile folk – now fixed.
But ears unblocked may hear a warning yet,
Above the churning gears: its gnashing teeth.
So sound the horn before the ink is set,
A better life may yet be bequeathed.
Beware the call of wealth, of mirth, of hearth,
It sings a web of cheery lies, but all
Eventually come to see the dark
It cradles where a heart was made a thrall.
To whom, you ask, was love thus bound? In name
And deed it acts as greed, but even if
It was a beast of night, covet the blame,
For though it was invited in,
Its prey are set adrift.
It captures, binds, and holds the passions close
Of those who give it gifts, but only hike
Its nails that reach into the sky and smoke
The souls of men within its mighty pipes.
It blights the land, offends the eye, and claims:
Design be better than a sacred canvas.
But even here it lies, for there is found the dame,
To impetuous man, who thinks that… alas…
He thinks to dominate his fate, and yet,
Would sacrifice a glacier for one sip
Of water offered now. Cement will set
But man cannot wait for patience’s gifts.
Instead his chase is downward bound, in search
Of greater pleasures and delights, to which
The beast will rub his hands, upon his perch,
If only man’s fealty he will now switch.
So cross the threshold of his knuckles foul,
And find his promise met not by reward,
But ever greater want. They’ll see no crown,
Nor how they’re led to curse their faithful ward.
Atop his palm they’ll stand, beneath the dirt
And muck, so witness not his presence, nor
His blight upon the soil, that once: unburnt,
Had seeded life and virtue – once, no more.
Even faustus knew a name to curse, yet,
They who feel the yoke and pyre of beast anew,
Have no such brief reprieve, they owe a debt,
Or so they think, until the graver debt is due.