And Eat Our Own Flesh....
E
Eric Cockrell
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we who are not alive,
and yet not dead.
poured into cups,
that dont exist.
held by a hand,
no more than shadow.
we cling to memory,
yet do not remember.
lighting fires with darkness,
drinking kerosene in circles.
we pray to old tires,
never seeing the wheel.
having made peace with war,
entrapped by our concepts.
we drain oceans of thought,
while dying of thirst.
afraid of the image,
the acorn worships the tree...
while the tree reaches feeble branches
to embrace eternity.
ships lost at sea,
drifting aimlessly towards home...
yet we came from that same ocean
that we call our path.
'who are we? ' we shout!
no answer to be heard...
we turn both violent and righteous,
and eat our own flesh....
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