The Last Metaphor

The last metaphor died today,
a final flutter of verbal plumage
made barely a semantic shudder of sound
as it struggled to bridge the                  gap
from abstract
                      to concrete

In death we wondered
what enthralled our eager mouths to water
at this pathetic peacock
this appalling avian suggestion
we hunted with such zeal

And as we stood and stared
      - as the blood trickle slowed
            and eyes of glittering obsidian
                      now cool to sickly jet -
at the last metaphor
dead at our hands
all wonder turns to horror
and beauty's veil is torn away
to reveal reality's horror
a feast devoid of flavor