If There Was A Black Kipling

Distant departure,
An empty sunset,
A bed of stars with night terrors,
Drenched in rich sweat and torrid mystery.

A bloodhound shot in the head,
Crooning to the moon like her jester
(There are whispers from the molester).
Revenged rejected, retaliation considered,
I still wonder about all the things I’ve missed.

Daylight breaks, morning bathes,
I’m in a wake, begged by the beaten.
I’ll feed them ambrosia,
Because they’ve forgotten they’ve eaten.

Still…there’s so much to do,
So much I’ve surpassed, so much overlooked
(If only my patience was hooked).
Just gonna end it,
When I’m beckoned.
He’s had it with me, I reckon.

It the world aspirates by the end of the year,
Then complacence has finally started to grow near
(I’ve come to love the things I fear).
If the molester waits, finger over mouth,
And the underlings will rape you while you sleep,
Then you’ve accomplished nothing,
Just like me.