Litkicks Message Board Archive

The Snake

Posted to Poetry

Sometimes the snake
In a world of ripe fulfilling
Goes a little mad.

He shakes off his skin
And carves into the ground
The pieces of his destiny.

And in the brilliant heat of the jungle,
Where the sun pours forth a brew
Lush and radiant from the south,
The new-found creature
Turns its gaze
To the nest of young mice.

He is flawed, but what can we do?
There is no other snake.