A Series of Shorts

Scents of grime and scum

Stain and drip down the walls

With a smell worse than that of dung

In these underground stone halls.

Opposition towards the bourgeois

Hath rendered them ill with malevolence.

But so long as the moon strengthens me,

I will refuse to hesitate or repent.

The sun for too long has bragged

Of its limitless light and glim

While it ignorantly dragged

Behind its own oppressed kin.

They call me murderer, criminal.

But these are just pointless words

When I already knew my crime’s toll

Was to never again see sky or birds.

And so long as I know others will

Take up the spear I once held,

The end is a satisfaction still.

Into bone and dust, I will meld.

Behold, but a scuff and scrape,

Of the jail keeper’s tread on stone.

And with a quick burst of hate,

I know I am now not alone.

The time has come,

My fate and destiny are done.

A flash, a cry, and then

Darkness and silence again.

All hail the Lunar Republic.