It Really Is Neigh

With great vengeance and furious anger

She will burn you.

Drag us all through the dirt

Until our gashes

Are pustulated mounds

And our skin remains raw.

Run us over with your black chariot

For the wrong that we’ve done.

 

This is our salvation --

Forged in fire.

Pick your teeth with my bones --

I cannot say I don't deserve it.

I cannot live in harmony with fire.

Fahrenheit 451 looks peaceful now.

My charred and blackened skin is what

I deserve.

 

A desolate Earth is what’s become of you.

So go ahead,

Blow us to smithereens.

We're fleas on your back.

We’ve done you wrong.

And in my 99th year,

Fulfill my fate.

 

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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