Conforming to Hell
By Peter Scott
Ritual tribe-quest
Meshed for enjoyment
Strung aloop in myth
Supposed to be what
They are not
Other’s joys causing
One man’s pain
A type to sorrow
For they may not rest
May not sleep in a bed
Studded with stars
View their friend’s ecstasy
Are they forever tormented, divided
Lacking basic skills
Transposing fear, infusing their cries
Bleeding at the gift
Moments to be savored
Hurt by cold dedication
Time so precious
Must keep moving
Striving ’till infinitum
Body deplorable
When it should have rested and healed
Mind white with bend
Stressed to break
Neither recovered nor refortified
Barren
Soon shall it pass
Finished out with light
Explosions to reality
Gears moving again
An old machine motor
Turning slowly
Giving life
When life occasionally ends
Ends everything
How sweet.
