Death of the Griffin

To the flame the moth does flitter,

On its wings a touch of glitter.

Curiosity it killed the cat, with wily ways,

Could he have escaped that?

Or are the snares and traps so subtle,

That uncertain were risk and cuddle,

With the vipers and their cousins,

Without reasons by the dozens,

We lay down with thieves in the night,

Stealing back from them, then take flight.

Leaching from their soulless hearts,

What we think are missing parts.

But, all this for naught.

If the answers are not sought,

To the crumbling of the world,

The devastation and the apocalyptic whirlwind.

These are all things to come.

But, we are getting closer to the chilling tide.

We'll fools if we think we can hide,

From the coming powerful onslaught,

For like the moth, the cat, we will get be caught.

JEFF TURNBULL

BLUETYGER