poem of the day: Battle Cry

I am debauched by immanent darkness,
no credo, no godless incense leads me.
Through these foibles, cognitive ecstasy,
I thunder strike at Old nick's haughtiness.
The globe, its misty mystery, gleeful lust,
enlightened folly, inapt ambrosia,
sustain the life of death, the fallen star.
The high isles crumble under this cold dust,
the cold feet pressure, causing shivering.
Delilah disrobes me, how shall I stand?
Her bodacious looks absorbs, from the mind.
'What hibernates us resides deep within! '
The light wakes reason, Gehenna, no more!
Elysian fields reclaim the trespassor. 

Post a comment