The Rebellion - The Charge Poem by Kid of Los Angeles

Now is the time.
Yet time is a sand that flitters through broken fingers.
Weary and ongoing, old man Time ticks lives of seconds.
In duration of these seconds, elders preach to the missionaries.
Look down upon their minions, and fall.
As boiling water on innocent fingers.
The fingers, left abroad to float. Flotation though, is inevitable.
A union gathers, when enough is the appropriate number.
To storm upon the overseer.
The overseer is revealed fireworks.
An unexpected sequence within time.
The Evolution shall fall! ! !
The showers of disbelievers will rain upon the wretched pope and his followers.
With such a sea of magnitude, the demon shall be derived from within the showers.
The demons tears of molten lava,
And tongue of poison shall surround the pope and the minions.
Acidifying them with a violent pulse.
The demon has reaped the fruits of the popes statue soul.
Hard, and unified, the fruits melt into nothing but a smoldering liquid in its true form.
The Rebellion. The Rebellion.
The Rebellion is coming! The Rebellion is coming!
The Rebellion... Is....Coming.