their hands creep slower
than their tongues
toward fires kindled by an inner luminance
they have no access to
nor understand, nor ever reach
yet still claw and fight
yearning to burn in flames
not meant for them
but they are loud and they screech
they are jealous, they preach
they despise and they belittle
that which is denied them
and they prowl on the outskirts
of bejeweled cities
like sick animals
biding their time
they seek the gaps, the lapses and holes
in which to find what little crack
what little gloom
they can enter
the weakness they strive always to find
where they can tear and pull
toward a far lesser doom
a fate that has been destined
for greater things
and on a different stream
girt by the hungry jackals and hyenas
that lust, drool and scream
a lone man
silent
amid the envious host
proceeds as if in a dream
calm and unbothered
by the clutching claws
of a far lesser realm
than his
