Human, after all.

So, where to begin on our journey
across the waters to Cruithne?

The strange old place that reels in
tourists by the scruff of the neck
and kicks them around like rubbish
and wishes them a fond farewell.
With its wrinkled and wretched women
and their shaking, chilver daughters.
The men grow like weeds to be poisoned
by the crops they grow.

Day by day the population shrinks
and looks more and more like the
solid remnants of dirty dishwater
in the proverbial kitchen sink.

Why we go is an unanswerable question.

String and cellotape hold our minds together
and unflappable as we may seem,
we are but human, after all.

The roads are treacherous indeed, rotting
animals girning at the sides, glorifying
the everlasting beauty of the natural world
being destroyed by the big, bad wolf.

Wolves died out years ago, we killed them
and made their howl last forever
in the glitter of the moonlight, the spark
of youthful anticipation.
But how we rage against the animal kingdom
with all their teeth and claws and stings.
Who would have thought we could kill everything?

Nothing is beyond reason as we commit treason
and assassinate our animalistic Royal family
with pesticides, biocides, insecticides
and commit genocide again and again.

Oh, we raise our weary cry,
we are but human, after all.

So the waters still and the sun dies for the evening,
painting her blood on the sky like a
Turner prize artist, art of nothing but
the old shock-horror that affects no one anymore.
Immune to reality, immune to care.

"You deserve everything you get." We say when
things go wrong and bombs drop
on babies heads and pensioners legs
and when the girl is deflowered
against her will.

How we cry innocence when terrible things
happen to us, bankruptcy and repossession
but we shed no tear when it happens to others.
"Why me?" they mutter at the dead of night
and we just reply to the windy whimper
"You deserve everything you get."

At Cruithne we will dine on beetroot and
a human hand dipped in honey. Sell our
clothes for the money to pay for our feast
and no one will consider us peculiar
as we stride around, bulbous and pale
in the moonlight. For tonight the Earth is
taken by the animal kingdom

once again. The uprising will be quick
and the agony slow, riding it out over thousands
of years of toying with emotions.

"Why us!" the human race cries in a thousand languages.
To this delightful scream, we simply reply:
"You deserve everything you get,
you are human, after all."

Such positively disgusting imagery...
Good job.

It reads in a way not disimilar to a motivational speech, as if you were stood at a podium rallying for support. Okay, if this were your speech you might not be incredibly popular with the human race, but you would be to someone.

And as always, your imagery is astounding. I particularly liked the 'dine on beteroot and a human hand dipped in honey', it just caught me. Sometimes I felt that it needed a little paring down, to make it a little less verbose, but other than that, I thought it read beautifully.