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What Rough Beast*

by Omi Ford

When all is said and done, the scourge of beasts has won the day, and everywhere the tide of blood is loosed. Neighbor falls upon neighbor, bonds of fellowship forsaken and left to die in the gutter wherein they struggle to be the last creature standing in the pile of rot. Try as you might to keep clear of the carnage, darting furtively from shadow to shadow, the beasts shall come for us all.

It is already too late; the only choice left to you now is how you shall let innocence die—with you, another body on the pyre, or from your abandonment, left to whither and shrivel.

Your time is up. The beasts have come for you. You could run, but they will only find you again and when they do they will be sure to bleed you dry, thirsty as they are for the blood that will snuff out the light of hope.

The candle has been sputtering for some time now anyway. It can only hold out for so much longer. And then what will you do, abandoned to the dark?

Your decision is easy in the end.

If it is beasts you must face, then a beast you shall become.

*William Butler Yeats. The Second Coming. “And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?”

Omi Ford is a multi-disciplinary creative trying to make sense of his thoughts one word/image/second at a time.


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