Your Godless Utopia


What is a god?

Bright-eyed sprouts,

their clumsy dissertations

in primitive dialects

striking profoundly;

Tell’s arrows

plunged deep into

the heart not there

moments before.

Such fragile fingers

whose snowflake touch

emasculates all darkness

fear and loneliness –

Who can stand against

their innocence?


Only the dead

remain unscathed;


No light to burst

a dry husk;


ghastly grips

and warm steel

still smash sprouts –



Sprouts will see

roots will grow

blooming fire

sharp hard hate

traded innocence

for killing cold

to see you burn.


This is your Godless Utopia

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