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cobaltdrgnohhh, we are hungry.
we are hungry, say the beasts. don't you know that we are just like you?
you eat. consume. drink. believe the monsters on teevee. not the ones with four legs and two wings that they present to you as sideshows, but the all-too-human hosts, their masks of solidarity slipping, running... they make you ache, you quake, you fear, you grasp-- your need!
be it had by slaughter or mercy! be it a thing of sickness or good! you, thou animal, you join the fray, for you hunt alongside us, teeth chattering for the prey!
and it is well, and it is well, for being hungry and sating it is a thing of joy, and chattering in the thrill of the hunt is a thing of joy. the resting afterwards, in heaven, with flavours of chilled velvet wine pressed into pomanders and the freedom to run wherever one pleases... this is a thing of joy, for which we have waited long.
and yet it passes us by ere the night falls. the sky-seer grasps naught from the clouds. "uncertain," she says, and we follow her anyroad, for uncertainty is a worse fate than death.
this is our howl. thus it ends. and we raise voice to sing again....
we are hungry, say the beasts. don't you know that we are just like you?
you eat. consume. drink. believe the monsters on teevee. not the ones with four legs and two wings that they present to you as sideshows, but the all-too-human hosts, their masks of solidarity slipping, running... they make you ache, you quake, you fear, you grasp-- your need!
be it had by slaughter or mercy! be it a thing of sickness or good! you, thou animal, you join the fray, for you hunt alongside us, teeth chattering for the prey!
and it is well, and it is well, for being hungry and sating it is a thing of joy, and chattering in the thrill of the hunt is a thing of joy. the resting afterwards, in heaven, with flavours of chilled velvet wine pressed into pomanders and the freedom to run wherever one pleases... this is a thing of joy, for which we have waited long.
and yet it passes us by ere the night falls. the sky-seer grasps naught from the clouds. "uncertain," she says, and we follow her anyroad, for uncertainty is a worse fate than death.
this is our howl. thus it ends. and we raise voice to sing again....
no subject
2021-01-07 04:20 (UTC)I don't really have a lot to say about it, but I do like it. I like the imagery.