At the Feast
I guess
Whatever else they get
Humans do not get along
With each other at least
Not well
Chastened by morality
To serve
And yet
Hastened by mortality
To swerve
They cannibalize at the feast
When those who serve and swerve have nerve
Flesh where the soul has been released
Fresh from a wound which can never be healed
Red from the white where the bone is revealed
As just the dessert they deserve
The soul is something cannibals can do
Without since it seems too good to be true
And each of the cannibals was
A free spirit too
Who thought that because
It was offered free
The soul as a whole
With its heart-shaped hole
Must be worthless when it happened to be
Priceless
And what a thing is really worth
Beyond its price
Is learned they say through death at birth
In paradise
Or hell
If there is such a thing
If there is anything
I only know the soul on earth
Knows quite enough of suffering
If only for a little while
By which we learn a little style
By which we earn a knowing smile
With each other at least
Oh well
I know I know nothing
Except perhaps regret
As a beast at the feast
But the feast is not over yet
+Steven Curtis Lance
Copyright MMIX
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