Freewrite (Saturday evening)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 19, 2012 Under: Rhymed Verses


Pomegranates hang from Lady Shallot’s locks -
as she waits patiently in the shade of apricots...
by the caves of Camelot with tailor made sailer maiden satin top
You graze with camels, flocks pour in like the rage of Ragnarok
Hoards decay from ravaged crops…subordination matters not
If you can become the lord of fate and correlate the battle bots
It’s been instituted that you’ll fornicate at Tavistock
At the border gates with the corpse of Isaac Asimov
Cooking communism on stovetops with molten grade Stalin pots
the naked truth is kept under close eyes... of pornographic stock
Don‘t support a horrid habit when there’s more to rapping hot
Even the richest men on Earth become bored by having lots
I’m tearing down the canyons of universal truth on a warlock straddled ox
Which is not a fantasy creature but metaphorical for strong breeds
An Ankh steed with long sheaths, boarded by seven oracles & harpies
sitting around a round table in a circle encircling clans, devout adults
following blood-prints for the case: "Murder of the Man Without A Pulse"
False prophets gossip to no audience in a land without a cult
Heavy petal kings roam Artesian fields carryin’ grand amounts of bulk
Am I an inanimate object or does my soul have the people’s condition?
in Siberia mapping out the snow nomad’s strategic position
now let’s all give a slow clap for those who lead lives of evil existence
Starving artists, all you’re doing is just feeding the system
become a hydrochloric master soldier of peace, prosperity, heresy
Stuck between two worlds, so during the next epoch, bury me separately
From a rock and a hard place to the soft spot in your hearts
I strike fear in the populous from the starship onslaughts in the dark
it’s not hard to embark with killer priests and bandoliers
Basic Instructions Before Leaving [insert newly discovered planet here]
A slowly perishing author from the lost towns of North Sea
receiving no child support from Elenin’s father, bogged down by court fees
I’m contestin’ you. In impressive boots since the destitute onset
I don’t just threaten status quos, I fuckin execute bomb threats
I’m godless, teaching lessons through an evolute complex
you can’t measure brute, unless you wreck the booth, god bless

In : Rhymed Verses 



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