Ravens In Job' The Prophet'! - Poem by Shireen Ramadan
Surrealed in a prophet, he was the painting, in colours ov suffering, the charred in humanity.
To forbid the curse ov secreted bile, inside a sable liver, to devour my ravens.
In colours ov humans, surreal to heal them, in recess ov Job, to grieve the seven.
Up to up, conceit ov sockets, forbear my bones to evaporate in him.
For tales to cite, liqour to swim, cutting to eat a lower grim.
Suffer in colour, for sons ov devil, shedding black in Job, rebuilding shambles ov heaven.
His aspiration, interred in Job, for ravens' scrutinized disorder, maggots lacerate.
Mad heads ov leech are creeping in me, in liquor ov brain, to surreal my intellect.
Gorgons' false illusions, I abdicate the holy, my scars in sockets, to grieve the seven.
For ravens to exhume, to the scarlet prostate, in shrouds ov menstruation, for Job to entomb.
I mesmerized Utopia to surreal his prophecy, theatres to the empty, to become the lost.
I grieved the seven to feed upon disorder, I sinned to redeem, to exhume my intellect.
Gorgons' false illusions, I abdicate the painting, to inter in Job, his etherealized plagued wings.
Once I saw theatres, to act his forbearance, I cursed a secreted bile to devour sable ravens.
Exellence ov rot, to inter his aspiration, I dealt with scarlet in grave ov menstruation.
To masturbate the thousand, in crypts ov leeching kingdoms, in colors' decapitation, mad maggots to slither.
Once I soaked his church in sockets, the pus ov red eyes is creeping to depict.
Mesmerizing, in shambles ov heaven, I climbed the vine in Job, to decipher a prostate.
Swears ov holy, his scars in sockets, I sinned to redeem the scarlet Job in me.
Surrealed in a prophet, I sculptured in the name ov holy, in sockets ov seven, to char his ravens…..
Comments about Ravens In Job' The Prophet'! by Shireen Ramadan
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye