Days You Wished Voodoo Really Worked Poem by Kale Beaudry

Cerebral photographs,
casting new light on a seemingly ancient stage;
bright sun, brighter eyes,
light smiles on bluer days
skies through magnifying glass in hand,
taking deeper looks at black or red ant.
The concentration,
microscopics in the ebb of young life for days;
bricksand, stick 'n stone,
lick heat, or swallow rays,
no bone broken while the legs are torn
upon black or red tossed in red or black home.

Childish laughter over high frequency screams
as one hundred legs thrash over eight or sixteen
Statistics replace the white reality fades
as hill and the hill play everything but a game
Two deities return in about two weeks time
only to discover and only to find
Their hard work caved in no body in sight
either died en mass or vacated in fright
No beauty here simply knowledge to come
with soulful tune played at the beat of my drum.

Meaningless life taken, means
I was just as much a God
as God was a God to I.