False Idol

You talk
with nary a thought of truth
content to rip asunder
a continent.
Speak volumes
mayhap all will listen
falling to your thunderous roar
waddle forward
patting hair in place
put the best face forward.
You are nothing.
A pig.
A degenerate.
A bitter taste upon my tongue
one I wish I could deny.
Your fatted calf
an offering
to gods unknown
for you know
death is riding
high upon the clouds
and you will yield
you will bow
for ignorance
shall be your downfall.
©Nov. 1/19
Picture found in Pinterest

Author: Jay-lyn Doerksen

I am a single hard working mom in her 40's. I have always written poetry and I love words. I live with depression and its ups downs. This is a space where I can create and write all that I need to.

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