Feed the Beast

It seems that every day

Caesar asks for more and more

The slow bleeding of a life

That let’s you eat your own arm

Everyday -

Letting it grow back each night

While you lie in unsettled sleep

Waiting for another day of consumption.

The puzzle remains

How do we rise above

All this eating, sleeping and shitting?

Yes, the beast must be fed -

But have we forgotten

That we control what it eats?

Perhaps, we offer up

Our precious parts too easily

Always hanging out a precarious limb

For its daily feeding

Instead of sustaining it

With an unsubstantial

Earlobe, eyelash or baby toe

While our arm grows strong

Waiting for the right time

To crush its horrible head.