A dollop of gruel…

Stuart France


The hour grows late.

The shadows lengthen.

As ever that supernatural fear

of the savage holds sway.

It calls us to the compound to watch it prowl.

We see it reflected in our eyes.

All we designate high culture comes from that gleam.

We glorify it and call it God.

Yet, still fearful, we seek to swipe it from the face of the earth.

Without that glint what remains to serve up for our delectation?

View original post


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s