Entropy

A pound of flesh?
I'll give you ten
So we can start
our lives over(,)
again.
_______________

Lately, my dear
I've been sharing my meals
with the goldfish--wrongly grieved,
for they've gone to a place
without a frown or a face
that will look, and judge, then leave.

Cannibals, I fear
I've reduced them to feel
nothing about eating their kind.
Lucky, they've been graced
without a thought or a trace
of guilt, or fear, or mind.