I Play

We wonder of an afterlife,

Please ourselves a place

In heaven if kind,

I know full fucking well in hell

The cliché’s you devise -

And derived from within

Her majesties a deferential

Hope,

I have not time for you; Satan

God, those opiates of the pope

Yet still I play, play an

Obsequious game with an eye

Upon the clock

A countdown for your infamy

While you

Box - an over-weighted glove.

Fate!

Hate!

Take the piss, a bored soldier

Am I logging every offence,

A humanist raped before

Your very eyes, feigning

A crash at your insult,

An innocent taking it up the

Arse with a secret smile not born

Of sex, a chuckle bating every

Lie you give while you deliver

Every- hex.

Your inconsequential self

Significance for a point

Way outside of time,

Declares your waste of human

Beings, a damning portrait

By a primitive,

A prodigious self denial

Of a self important scabbard

Bled by a power never worthy

Of,

Any

One

True

Soul.

Tick fucking Toc,

One

Two

Three

Four!

Michael J Waite 12^th April 2009