Is It Not
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?
Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2018
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