Middling Meddling Man - 2010/06/08

The ants are scurrying around I can feel them here,
Even blind I see their stench riding on the breeze.
They have come from afar and their purpose is clear,
To destroy everything every which way they please.
Cautiously they attempt to take stock of my state,
Seeking for weakness where none is allowed to exist.
Little do they know that I am aware of their hate,
So their efforts will not force a cease and desist.
But my hands are rigid and unable to hurl a stone,
And my feet are but great weights unable to smash.
Will I hear when they decide to give up and atone,
Or realize if they departing in a desperate dash?
Yet with this burden of truth I can only observe,
Knowing that my hand cannot hasten the work of fate.
For the contagion in my air is vengeance preserved,
As the little ants return wrecks havoc quite great.

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