The ever-poking knives; are back.


Nobody ever won,
a seat at the highest table,
whilst won-dering.
And, to be constantly;
marred by a demagogic dream’r,
is a storm,
of reveries thundering.
A costly sermon
minus refunding Him;
makes an irate, antagonistic –
hurricane of a redeemer.

Whilst your back
is turned, knives will poke;
fun at you.
When your knack
is spurned, the wicked spoke;
not of truth.
While your shack
is burned, evil’s smoke;
chokes anew…

No matter your serial
number.
The seas, rivers, and, waves;
crash asunder.
Filling gardens,
cities, and, graves.
Technological roads –
forbidden knowledge;
did pave.
Yet, generations are left here,
to wonder,
their brains forever to wander,
mental marathons amble, and, lumber,
on how; many, souls will be saved.

But, that question;
is already answered.
When the meek; become mighty.
And, the downtrodden;
are lifted up by the righteous.
By good conscience,
and, moral upstanders.
Whom delight;
in the defeating of cancers.

The antidote,

will make;

a martyred saint,

of the;

vicious, viridian virus.



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