Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Children of the Beast

You speak of a beast destroying the land. Its breathes life and exhales death. It consumes the forest--broccoli-like. But have you forgotten? This beast you were born of and live from; it raised you, it gives you life, and it has taught you none other.

You tell the beast to cease, and it does not hear you. With a coordinated chorus of your brothers and sisters, you cry out to the beast, cease, and it does not hear you.

It's grown the way it has because it's had much to eat, and now it can't cease without dying. Yet it will die by the way it exists, for it will eat it all. It will not cease because it can't do so without dying.

You cried out cease, muffled by its teat in your mouth. The irony lies here, for without the beast, you--brothers, sisters and all--shall cease from the earth. It brought you into this world, and it carries you through--no other means can, for your brothers and sisters are too multitudinous to walk the earth alone.

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