A collection of my natural history poetry. Or... poem, singular, as it were. I'll make more eventually.
there's an altar on the burning plain
through all the ash and crimson rain
a tombstone by another name.
in its obsidian is carved
a list of names, and graves now marked
in memory of our cruel art.
a monument to all the dead
to lift the bounty from their head
and in its place, to mourn instead.
it's been a long, long time, it's true
since that cold night in hobart zoo
how's september been treating you?
some say you lived till '003
only six years before me
when you succumbed to destiny.
but now it's 2025
and even if you're somehow still alive
it's far too late to make it right.
you're not the only one to fall
to heed our cursed curtain call
for greed makes killers of us all.
a love song unreflected sings
a requiem for its own wings
and all the other final things.
it's a story we have heard before
ignorance and greed and war
to kill our own, and many more.
there are no tragic accidents.
this is murder in the purest sense.
this is an act of violence.
the culmination of our sin,
and of the monsters we have been...
...i'm sorry. good night, benjamin.
