Monday, November 25, 2013
Revered hills are dedicated to the slings,
They wrapped the mud and big clods
And tossed their heads at the invulnerable to this day,
Feet hoaxed their stare, toes smashed and glared
To the unthreatened, just like the awe of those wrecks.
Secular hirers fed on relations relaxingly,
Religious impostors revelled with cursed beings,
Devils of the danger zone fled with disease on their heads,
Feeding a frenzied enemy for their ills,
Licking the wounds so endearing,
Liking the mood of lovely hell,
Leaving the motley company of great whelks,
Those sane funny men with slingers and skirmishers.
I see untouchable beings with their lives on the run,
Profane images rend their way to destruction,
Imprisoning those devotional practices,
The church housed them, leaves from a tree
That burgeoned into the barks of a weird oak.
My company was solid that day of the whole stigma,
Spiritual women and men ambushed the feeling,
Feeling was touched by the loners who swore
That love occasioned some day or some night.