Filthy Breed

Grime grows coverage for  

a shallow conscience, in turn  

birthing a perturbed presence.
  

Mouth, once full of  

the brightest sayings, vomits  

desires something you nor I  

could ever dream of.  

Ivy sprouts from this  

fertile soil, promising a  

censure of exile.  

  

Seconds will become  

years, and years to   

decomposition.  

Smooth teeth number   

their days, and the ivy  

pierces pimpled skin.  

Fungus promises to   

swallow the brain whole.  

   

And yet, naught can convert  

such a being to redeemed Good –  

how could anything, when one  

dances with Iblis and  

smashes on the Love of Allah?