Fallen

He sits at the end of the bed
thoughts running through his vast and ancient head

Tossing and turning in an un-easy slumber
snearing his ethereal lips as he wonders

Why humans deserve his love
They have never served him in the above

Having fallen from his grace
No longer able to look upon his face his anger burns

He has visions of stakes set deep in the ground
And thousands of humans on them all bloated and round

"Humans" he laughes
More like lawn pork or the sacraficial calf

They are made in his image and what do they do?
They live, fuck, and die all while wallowing in their own poo.

While he and his kind perfect as they are
Were banished from his presence and sent afar

Running a pale finger down you cheek
He thinks of inheritance and the meek

The sun begins to climb to the morning sky
Angry he still doesnt understand why

In a flash of feathers and anger he leaves with a smell of must
disturbing only a small bunny made of dust

The alarm goes off waking you from a unsettling dream
Of feathers, spikes and blood not knowing what it means