Men with the Chainsaws

A little poem I just whipped up. There’s no particular sense of organization, just free verse. No rhyme scheme, no rhythmic pattern. Just words with meaning.

“Men with the Chainsaws”

Man with the chainsaw, oh,
How I despise thee.
On an otherwise peaceful
Saturday morning,
You disrupt a silent
College campus.
We toss and turn
In our beds,
In our dorms,
In our homes.
Yet you hack on.

T’was not the sun
That woke me,
But the hellish sound,
The sound of hacking,
Of torture.

But hark! Silence!
There is hope yet!
Eyes closed, I
Rest my head upon
The pillow once more.

T’is a farce.
What’s that?
You’ve summoned another?
Enter, duet of hackers,
Subjecting us all
To the demonic revving,
The Song of Hell.

Sleep is no longer
An option
On this bright,
Saturday morning.





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