Then at last the wolves began to devour one another
They ripped into the other’s flesh relentlessly
They said nothing of their brotherhood
Nothing of humanity
They said nothing
Just engraved flesh to bone
And to their loved ones
It was told they had become ill
Or a roadside trap had sunk their haunches
A martyr for the cause
Blossoms of more beautiful death moving over their shoulders
And to the country wolves
The safe
The listless
The counterfeit freedom lovers
To them it all seemed
A natural progression of the ferocious world
Enviously seeking their freedoms
Their riches, their dreams
Soon the blossoms wilted
And a rancid stench drifted over the Sunday service
Until their worship turned outward
And pounced upon its host
© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
