They eat their own kind
Feast on the flesh of their kind
Drink up the blood quenching their thirst
With their teeth tear limbs apart
Ravage the brains; pick the eyes
Suck the marrow from the bones of
Their own kind.
These fingers once tenderly held a loved one
Those legs took a soul on a journey
That heart loved and loved
This blood that pulsed through the veins
They feast on their youngin’, their women
Plunder temples between infantile legs
Rip the cradle of mankind
Raid and pillage the sacred womb of humanity
They smack their lips with deranged joy
As the lifeblood oozes down their chins
Drips on the banquet table where
They feast on their own kind
Those eyes looked back at yesterdays and forward to tomorrows
These breasts from which life suckled futures
This tongue sent odes and laments and chants and ululations to hungry souls
They feed on their own kind
Walk the street the stench of blood up their nostrils
They stalk chicks as a fox near the farmhouse
Prey on the young and old and seemingly weak
Seeking only to fill their bloody hunger
Out in the street they took her soul
Under the kitchen table he turned baby into woman
Fighting for survival they consumed the dead
In a drunken delusion they sucked her dry
Ravage femininity pillaged womanhood
Licked their fingers
As they devoured their own kind
What abomination
A survival of the fittest?
A meal when times are toughest?
Or just pure cannibalistic, carnivorous, intentions?
Why do they eat their own?
this poem is linked to OpenLinkNight on dverse.com
ain't i woman 
They feast on their youngin’, their womenPlunder temples between infantile legsRip the cradle of mankindRaid and pillage the sacred womb of humanityThey smack their lips with deranged joyAs the lifeblood oozes down their chinsDrips on the banquet table whereThey feast on their own kind
damn, intense and vivid…in your face questions and social conciousness….one of the best of the week at OLN in my opinion…would love to hear it read…
thanks Brian, i love how you dive into the words bringing to light some of the things that even i as the writer didn’t see.
i will see about recording a reading.
You paint with a stark and honest palette–fine writing and a subject too many don’t care to know about. The emotions and images here are a shotgun blast.
thank you. unfortunately the inspiration for this type of poem is everywhere. hopefully the “shotgun blast” can be the wake up call – we need to build a safer society.
goodness…this is just awesome.. tight emotions…a drumroll of words, bursting with energy and social question we all should ask far more often.. an awesome write – and like bri – would love to hear this read
thank you. 🙂