Up above, looking down
And watching all 'round
With gleaming eyes
And heartless sighs
One does carryon,
Like the black-feathered carrion
Waiting patiently for the next meal,
Half ready to make a kill-
One does live like a carrion-
And in life that is how we carryon,
Greedily waiting for the meat,
With every death we greet...
With some semblance of sorrow-
Hidden behind the greedy thoughts that follow...
Yes, in life we humans, carrion,
Live, just as we carryon...
And then there's I, no better still-
Not wanting for much, but anxiously ready to see the kill...
Never wanting, always waiting-
To see how humanity has shaken'
From our petty morals and heartfelt belief-
That makes us better than some petty theif...
I, only seek to observe,
While, I could easily act to help and serve...
And so I, unacting carryon...
Simply watching as the carrion carryon-
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem