Malfeasants

-Malfeasants-
by Keaton Foster


Aged
Crusted
Pseudo rusted
Each joint
Every bend
Squeaks
And creaks
Then
Breakage begins
At first
The power to move
All will to transcend
Is taken away
Once in place
Further and further
Advances the truth
Of such decay
The weight of oneself
Is indeed too much
Collapsing inward
Down upon thyself
A pile of weary bones
A skeleton dethroned
What once stood tall
What once was true
Reduced
Never again erect
Never again to be
As it was
No idle hands
Or inclined master
Could ever rebuild
Such a disaster
Flesh becomes a stain
Meat loses its taste
Putrid and disgraced
No one or nothing
Will have
Anything to do
With such change
At such a point
The mind stays
Rigged and sharp
As the interiors
And exteriors
Increasingly fall apart
Call it a cruel joke
A wasteful display
Of our human ways
Such thought
Self-preservation
Now that
Is a dangerous intersection
And it is always
The last to be crossed
The last to be wasted
Destroyed
Toxification has done
What was meant
As cruel as it may be
It is the backbone
Of our very being
To live it turns out
Is to die just like this
We are human machines
Malfeasants
If you please
Designed to fail
Meant to degrade
To waste away
Until nothing
Of who we are
Or could have been
Remains…


Malfeasants
Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2015.