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Poem

Yellow is the color of the sun,
is it not?

It’s the same color as the Asian
valet corporate fella,
holding a Salvation Army red pot
Collecting inflated IPO fees 
at an illegal
dot.com parking lot

Always yielding to temptation,
is the armored car hijack dream plot slot caught
Never stopping to consider the cost:
a sinner auction sold  always get  Balaam bought

Red is the color of a dying sun,
is it not?

It’s the same color as the Native
citizen doorman woman,
holding her white glove hand out
Opening the revolving, business portal
A black hole:          Luciferian backroom deal
that lets those greedy green eyes in,
to the secret society place of crimson reservation rot
Where their sinking scarlet souls
fading light goes out

Cast into an abyss graveyard,
where the skeletal sound 
of the rattling chains won’t stop

The Resurrection comet tarry tale
of shed blood on a cross ...
no, it didn’t interest some,      not too much
Only the cash register ringing,     jingling silver sales
were the tolling death bells’      velvet touch
		    that those condor souls 
			        wanted to hear and feel — 
Taste of the dead presidents,
were the paper idols they believed made them live
So go golden tear dab their used paintbrush 

‘Cause they won’t cancer canvas stop 
cutting corners on their no-yield, 
killing field cash crops
Selling people triple X pain
for six bucks a pop

Green is the color of a living planet,
is it not?

It’s the same color as global gangrene illness — 
the yellow sickness
From ancient Far East to New World West,
the trafficking of souls
have always been, 
since antiquity, very profitable
	Poison ivy green
is an illusory vine that’s always seen
as being     eternally overflowing
Everlasting prospering

Monopoly Boardwalk disorderlies
careening around Go,
got their oily hands out, wanting mo’ ... 
	so much more
Wearing their pretty purple princess robe,
and blood diamond bling in their ear lobes 

Don’t be the next 
emerald color lusting whore ...
doing an arterial splatter stick-up flow,
at an ATM gas-n-go     robber red angel wings in the snow

Evil desires so many don’t wanna stop;
as the timer reaches near zero tick-tock,
on the last nuclear call Doomsday clock

But the ultra-violet rays of a healing Son
will cause a violence withering — 
melting of the guns   ...   dissolving every bomb run, 
will it not?

Fervent heat from the Son 
will turn the charred whited bones to black,
Ashes to ashes 
will be the white dwarf conclusion

And every eye will see
lightning, and hear thundering ...
			As the Sun of Man 
	on white clouds descend,
from a blue sky turned pale gray
Then the oven browning of all hope
will be a desolate, bittersweet cry
as every chocolate mint green thing die

At apocalypse end ... lying false profits
will be the windfall inheritance
the wicked no longer got

And black is the void color ... the absence of Son, 
is it not?  

Dark shade of a bottomless pit — 
A closed Book of Life,
wherein names have been blot

If this isn’t the end of your story,
then fear not

Each awakening day, 
the bright Morning Star comes out ...
Another chance for a rebirth,
is it not?
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