in the ethereal, beyond the world’s pale,
underneath all you touch and all you surveil,
our essence looms layered, as ghosts on a mural,
redacting all glory through synapse of neural.
here, war wages on, throughout time and space,
we declare our allegiance with the gestures we face.
the mirror scries to the writ core of self-myth.
you better be sure you really know who you’re with…
could be a Phoenix with a wrathful redd bate
or a covetous devil with his empty gold plate.
a Tiger whose eyes pierce through a soul’s camo
with vengeance so eerie, it tints cars stocked with ammo.
a speared mammoth that storms from ages drawn back
or the hare who surmised she always under attack .
the harvester ant, heaving his last heaviest haul
or the intentional tortoise with her plantigrade drawl.
the wild horse you sense you never can catch
or brave wren whose planets are primed to now hatch.
the skilled cunning cat on her heroic high hunt?
the loyal dog keeping watch, holding line, center front?
dragons, angels, fairies, and merr
all battling evil for which there’s no cure
as the monsters lay siege, and the earth burns and quakes
we stock polymer rations with toxic water from lakes
as blueprints were sketched to prepare this mare night
to weakened the rabble, keep them bound to their plight
this catastrophe brews, as we all clearly sense,
those horizonless clouds sure do look intense.
that pestilent worm, you’ve seen his wry smile,
his face is so handsome, yet his words are so vile.
The spider, that widow who licks her black lips
as she measures the size of all males in sips.
the feckless masked demon who blew up his guise
complacently hemorrhaging dangerous lies,
you’ve seen his army of slick spineless spies,
all dudded and spritzed, with morgue colored eyes.
the trolls, the ghouls, the goblins with gars,
they infiltrate power through madmen’s grimoires .
that beast you fear, you can’t see who wields it.
better seize higher ground before your prime shields quit.
curdled past sell-date, regulations and laws,
left to the cold Harpy with blood dried on her claws.
she ate her own puppy, then bezeled its paws.
now models her necklace to heinous applause.
all spirits are restless, our own and all others,
our parents, our children, our sisters, our brothers.
we talk home at our tables, at our jobs, in backrooms.
as we curse the existence of multiple dooms.
most journalists fled, now vampires spin.
all spectral munitions called forth to begin.
corruption to frequencies, effectively leeched,
engorged on the discord and hatred that’s preached.
minds feeble and lazy that do nothing but parrot,
it’s them covert whispers zealously ferret.
they act only by urge, their wills melted putty.
their deeds range from relentlessly petty to bloody.
those timid disposable puppets are tame
compared to what’s coming, the target end game.
apocalyptic destruction has several sure courses.
Where are the resourced? Aren’t they gathering forces?
They Sleep!
in cool comfortable rooms, with pools right outside.
some live on the web, without sanctum or pride.
they paint almas osetra on their maniacal yachts
while consuming the world’s most beautiful spots.
as poison flows on, blighting the streams,
the letters, the comments, the reels and the reams.
the political hedonists, with Flint and some kindling,
who cares if it burns?! campaign funds are dwindling.
wars built on lies, and lies built on wars
as generals of fortune press multiple tours,
while the sick and the hungry crawl on all fours,
while the rainforest king buys stars by the scores,
while the fish wash up dead, infecting the shores,
while the farmlands are swiftly demoted to moors,
while the streets are flagged with unholy dread,
while in concert, bombs kill and bury the dead.
What options to claim, in the last reckless hour?
ignore all the news while the brazen devour
the beauty, the love, all the good in this life?
as pandora’s box yells, “such gratuitous strife!”
with so much to so few, who choose no way out,
those emerald wasps prefer to bask in their clout.
in naked dimensions, we all are fair game,
though in spirit, not flesh, we far from the same.
so tied to possessions, one’s essence lacks lustre,
who copulates power, seizing all one can muster.
now Justice, like light, needs a grand jury subpoena
from the truth’s hidden branch stalks the owl Athena!
Rise up in the moonlight, bring all of your soul,
for uncursing the world from dark spells is our goal.