The Dogma Of Modernity Poem by Steve Trimmer

Secular prose and platitude
Blows like a sirocco
Across the plagued mind of humanity
Even scholars wade in the ford of literal comprehension
With penchant for hackneyed cliche
Bombastically, they critique the utterance of independent rhapsody
Wishing to quell that which can not be scissioned or measured
Venerating the mundane and it`s prosody

They, who are foiled by the allegory and mirrored verismilitude of
The Lapwing`s Song
Seeing a Knight Palladin as perfidious traitor to Charlamagne
Instead of a champion of veracity
They, who would be content to kill every last Dragoness
Leaving The Dragon Riders forlorn and devoid of purpose
They, who would replace the ancient Cauldrons of Imbas and Awen; With pedantry

Pestles of The Inquisitors hath dulled their vision
Liege Lords of Dogma who apotheosize the deadpan and the disport
Well, revel in thy perdition, here in temporal bournes
Their heart beats, yet is as lifeless as a corse
Hell is ne`er in The Underworld
Yet, it is here on Middle Earth
Reserved exclusively
For the fools who believe in it