Friday, August 17, 2018

Riddle XXXXVII

Serpent's wind,

      Chilling tongue transcribes a sickness, Attempting to murder love's most honest metaphor, That everyone beyond self is a storm we must shake in order to... Situationally fulfill the will of this sandcastling earth's bruised black and vampire red dying belief was never blessed the ordinance of bearing a pathetic psalm oracle witness to the inhumanity we're perpetuating... We're the serpent, The wind, The apocalypse storm greed happily ruining the next yet to be labelled holocaust of faith in humanity: Hope!

In lieu of watching,
G-d or whomever's hand,
Beat me... Harbinger requiem black,
And post vermilion shades of blue!

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