Poetic

Dearth of grace

Daydreams swirl, dwell viciously on every sick-fuck crude desire
The heart has ever fired, the delirium for which the brain is wired.
Wending thick through fly-ridden cadaver rot to unstir
the vulgar crossbred melting pot. The upper crust, it is their unsavoury lot.
Lot in life and dotage in death.

Beauty found only in bane of late. Duty calls now, in cold blood to maim
the ill-fated motley ingrate, lying in wait.
Our good priests and zealots come crawling out of their rocks from every corner of the earth.
Dragging their whores by the hair, for sacrifice, to bring to bear, a cleansing of this damnable air.
Orphaned, bastard children exhaling this damnable air.
Fire-born witches and thirsty beasts ceased long ago, to grace us nightly with their presence for fear of a kindness done, a retreat won by sycophantic human error.
Marching on fresh births, praying our souls wont get in the way
Orderly queues to have our hearts cut out grow longer day by day.

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Poetic

Dirty deliverance

The one half,
born to forgive and forget afore the dagger point even grazed our feeble hearts, our half-baked haste.
The other half of us to live and die by dogged decree, serving the final course of our repast, cold riposte at every turn.
But jury purer, justice pending. By my word, what became of integrity delivered by the scales.
This day we heed the colourful, the contemplative.
Hollow criminal. Hello shotgun conscience.
Pause it on the black and white, and cue the grey to wash the crimson bright.
Let love linger, let faith gape, met with sickly sweet humane abundance, bathing in the dusty light.
Overkill in the first degree.
Pleading with the hellbound, the soon to be departed.
But what of the judge-penitent, whose just heart serves us well. Like hell it does.
By my soul, crux of my being, we cannot abide by this dearth of morality. This stately sodomy.

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