Find meat stuck in teeth of glaze-eyed Beasts,
Of prey from some dangerless lands,
Pluck out what was left from unprincipled feasts,
And show them the fibrous strands.
Upon seeing these, it’d cause no unease,
Save for those with the conscience of rams,
To dismantlers by degrees, as dutch elm disease,
In unremorseful-laden hands.
Find wings that cling under nails of Werethings,
From the backs of fledgling targets,
Scrape out what was clawed from their playthings,
And show them how aimless they marked it.
Upon seeing this, there’d be nothing amiss,
Unless they had the heart of a lamb,
To selfish-seekers, as a bloodsucking kiss,
In unhonored-laden hands.
The conduct of Beasts and Werethings
Shall have no dominion in me;
Integrity from within reigns and rings,
Except not occasionally.
Fitful, Fearful, Phantasmal