The Blacklantic Situation

Posted by Erik Moshe on Friday, June 6, 2014 Under: Rhymed Verses


The Minister of Waterways had his hands full this evening
he commissioned scientists to take samples of tree rings
to determine the reactions affecting the blue absinthe snow
turning it into a lifeless substance throughout the globe
He motioned to his secretary to get the president on the line
she gave him a grim look - he guessed what was on her mind
Transatlantic geysers erupted, at first the Aussies
theorized the Earth was contaminated by human germs & proxies
More mature parties calculated that the terms were costly
that the surf from salt seas had converged into a furnished, gloss sheen
In massive strains, the acid rains were onyx petrol, Turkish coffee
never served with malt cream, spawning utility worker crossbreeds
they soon populated each glistening urban offspring
no pensions, just a penchant for the murky myrmidon sleet
Lieutenants deserted their purple concrete guard towers...
conscientiously objecting to the absence of light, with God vouchers
supply tanks and levees were bursting, falling down
Merc's were all around...
deltas were charred skulls with serpents crawling out
the plague acted as the catalyst for the church of Baltic crowns
"it burnt our fossil alms and made us unlearn Teutonic vows"
Baptisms were outlawed, considered useless
the unborn thirsted for a few sips of crisp Mt. Plymouth juices
Ravines and lakes were reservoirs of muck in the wetter countries
what was once fresh was hellish aloe vera in Venom's bloodstream
wretched dunnage - midnight Arabian silt, the texture hummus
a little unbecometh of such a plentiful world, the threat's among us

Beneath the pools, under the ice, spreading brackish debris
a scenic womb with jumbled up pipes, and lots of acrid disease
The lead surpasses the green...
who's to blame for banishing clean liquid?
was it an unholy creature forging black holes out of molten ether?
The realization of the devil's son's florid Easter
full of ivory harlots, inky, waxen basins and classic maidens
along with other items sprung from gothic imagination
that you wouldn't find blooming in gardens in the summertime
pardon the parlance of sullen, sun kissed grime
The universe doesn't see a gray area since it's colorblind
yet like Fukushima, our demise was never less publicized
The Minister of Waterways took a draught of coffee, then sighed
because purity was as isolated as a lost Somalian tribe

In : Rhymed Verses 



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