The fang has formed the fawn, and red makes green <br />On meadow grass where blood distills to sap. <br />The world blooms from carrion soil, made clean <br />By vultures turned to blossoms. Maggots trap <br />Entropy, filth makes gems that then ascend <br />To feed the mockingbird. Eden labors <br />Ever to be reborn, and yearns to mend <br />The fall. The leopard's ivory sabers <br />Sculpt the antelope to a perfect grace. <br />The mortal screams of all the teeming prey <br />Are birth pangs that briefly across the face <br />Of a dreaming fetus flitter and play. <br />This world is a clenched womb, as yet unborn, <br />Where nothing has yet assumed its true form.<br /><br />Mark Sauer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-fang-has-formed-the-fawn/
