You're a ghost to most before they even notice.

Posted by Erik Moshe on Friday, February 10, 2012 Under: Rhymed Verses


You’re a ghost to most before they even notice.


In the age of the oracle knights, this page is a horrible sight
And the universe is a dark coastal stretch save for the carnival lights
The sepulchral reside, abnormally wise casting questions to the holy fleets
“Is time a real estates man and can properties of the soul be leased?”
Warm pulsation of ghostly cheeks, vision inundated
Sophisticate serrated - spirituality is contemptuous enslavement
The most diminutive beings imaginable belong to systems vindicated
From intrinsic riddles of sphinxes written in scripted Aramaic
To Ecliptics barricaded in a mystic baron’s wasteland
The first hiccups serenading the throat came from disarming Saddam
Now cold torrents of ocean spray shower the sentient automatons
Tomorrow is gone; amphibian hounds wait at Elysium’s town gate
Supposedly posted for civilian downgrades -
The dead exodus Lead Pegasus glides through the lithium cloudscapes
This millennium’s frenetic in outbreaks...
It can think, but I can’t see a true equal in it’s bicentennial, round face
I believe in rights, I can pause and listen
in the city of bacterium where there’s no cost remittance
For any indentured servant to the laws of physics
I’m telling you, it’s codswallop, and cod wallow in the dark abysses
Mankind has lost it’s bossy mistress - ravaged by the palace guard
In a tavern after dawn weaving human webs with the tabernacle yarn
The book of life’s enraptured catalogues start with that cadaver splattered cross
If nothing even matters, scrap your cause
Sleep peacefully on the invisibly paperwing of the Casper albatross
Let go of the dead weight just when life throws it’s tasseled mastodons
The emerald veil of destiny somewhere beyond the alabaster smog
Where can I find the underworld registration sheet for tattered vagabonds?
For reasons unknown, it’s regional home can’t be revealed on its own
Unless speaking in unfeasible code - but being religiously flatfooted won’t help
You’ll bleed from your toes, watching people demote into chameleon drones
Helium smoke reeling in from Bahamian groves - surreal in it’s glow
If heaven’s on another plane I’ll start an airship service and prosper in Hell
I hope this all explains why roses are red, ghouls howl and carcasses smell
This art is a cell, a mitochondrion citadel where marauding Darwinists dwell
Might as well, with the spirit of the doomsday machine haunting itself

In : Rhymed Verses 



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