Ant Hill

One after the other, 

Flames and dirt.

Blazing sun, dialed down.

Sinister, viscous smile

On the lips of 

God.

Scuttling, scared,

The ants go about 

Their duties and 

Pray that 

God.

Doesn’t take much notice.

In one hand, a doll.

In the other, glass.

The doll, for comfort,

The glass, for rage.

The ants scatter across

The ground and hide

Beneath the grass. 

Climbing towards home

The need to eat

Or the want to dig

Push the ants on, 

Always fearing the 

Wrath of 

God.

Every now and then,

The sun screams.

It finds its target,

And then the ant

Is dead.

God.

Smiles, and laughs,

Laughs and smiles,

Pleased with the 

Carnage, too small to see.

Endless ants,

Endless rage.

The glass pointing and 

Aiming and 

Loading its barrels.

God. 

Is mad, in more ways than one.