Thus he took the world, and remade it
Reshaped it in his own image
and breathed upon it the fetid stench of life
And called it his home.

For though we must dwell in hell, let it be a hell of our own construct
Where the ways are paved with the flesh of the still-bourne babes, wrenched incomplete from the wombs of the weeping mothers
And we, the leeches, may grow fat on the blood of the lambs.

-AJ Magy
©2000 CE