Thought

Who art thou,
to provoke such thought?
What demon art thou,
bringing what thou hast wrought?
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Being of immaterial flesh,
shifting our wills to your own,
why dost thou torment me so,
with the wrongs that I have done?
My thoughts are as thorns,
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stuck in my side,
guarding,
keeping from me
peaceful thought.
What soul did thee devour,
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in thine quest for greed,
that thou should act this way
toward one who has done you
no intentional harm?
Did thee swallow a vile concoction,
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to make thee act this way
toward the last free life in thine hands?
To crush, bend, and break?
Dost thou seek to ruin
what little there is left
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into the fields of casualty?
Take charge, fear not,
for the last soldiers to fight will,
and they shall triumph over thee,
with the precision of well-matched soldiers
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entering battle.
The wine of eternity
shall be thine undoing
for the evils thou hast committed
in the frost-hard farm,
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where milkmaids forever stand.