Poem: Killing A Six-Legged Saint

The vicar scuttled toward me, frightened and alone.

I stood still, seeing it fight the drones

Of its former flock, turned into the beasts

We so often see and many times disown.

Petrified, he collapsed, frozen on my altar

Littered with sleek silver and yellowed relics

That provide the cruel and the wise

To strike.

So I struck,

Caught in my own trance of disgust and compulsion,

Wondering if my sudden act of defiance spilled

A microscopic soul hiding from my revulsion.

Written by Abhinav Tiku