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Lava pours to staunch a ruptured womb, green mists warn from the pit of one to walk from it, slick and groomed.

It is hard to believe we have to put up with this shat.
Where are our magics our bands if warriors, 
everything so chicken-shat.

A family torn, a heart shattered or burned, 
a soul worn thin,
as a cowardly World turns.
Life's bitter sting, a delicate sin laid out 
as burnt offering,
offers up nothing,
oiled rags of diminished return.
Between the whispers of laughter and tears
 is vengeance not apathy's trance,
a pathetic Hollywood song and dance.

In the shadows of doubt, shall we find 
our way through the stratic layers of deceipt.
The behind the scenes cowards holding 
the invoice to that black market receipt.
Of barcoded carbonites, we-
battered flotsam and jetsam in the black sea 
or orphan seeds carried by the wind,
finding shallow roots of
come what may voyage on the seven deadly 'seas'. 
The ships we set sail like messages in a bottle,
bottle necked at the straits of "no deposit no return."

Evil's Seduction of frothing roiling at laps 
at our exposed shores.
Caught compromised,
between this scandal or that pan handle tit for tat whores of the blue blood, priests of the Temple of con CERN.
As the North Star turns away towards 
a venusian projector phi-G galaxy 
of fallen angels drinking abreast of the milky way.

Are we hard enough to weather the storm,
brave enough to translate in terraform, pliable like obedient children reading Life's Old Ways, 
the goodle days-archived, in mysteries 
of Love's instinctual cuneiform, 
now it is but contrived in Rajneesh poorn.
Runes of encantation to bring our souls mate back 
to the seat of our baptismal dawn,
the do or die decision,
"are you with me or against me?"

The Holy Spirit, our "first love", 
that which all good reflects in us, shines from.
Entrenched enough in our hurt and pangs 
to have sympathetic legacy, 
nomadic pregnancies oasis water birth delivery 
in triplicate that holds us in keeping form?
Yes, it is the Trinity 
who needs not and will not lie of breedful things.
From those who would do us harm,
charm us into a magic tricks false bottom 
undoing as the box spins and the blades 
stab us in the back,
"oopsie, did we do that?!".

In the crucible of sedimentary alchemy, we burn,
our human element to the satisfactory 
alignment of lesson's 
magic recipes.
Cygnus shades of Amoreth,
are we, guarded by a dragon
of our crystal breadth of breath.
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