Thursday, March 22, 2018
The beauty usually surrounds us when in a paradise,
Inside the paradises there are regions of galaxies existing,
Where life is existing, plants sprout fortunately, gold escalates
In torsos and bellies, from eating of silvers and bronzes.
The coins melt, the treasures are discovered, and unhappiness
Is emitted into the heavens, with transmigration,
And a zero fat body, a hefty sum of money, and also
The slums sadly appear to find a unique playground of circular roots.
The vortex creates a sinful appetite from weak creatures of destruction,
Inside the vortices are thoughts to collect rapidly, hungrily, dangerously;
I have visited a new creation, a different aroma, the wrong type of molecule,
That smells of collisions as the fasting is created of the individual atoms.
Why be on a safari, when satanic rituals undo the nature of our being?
This is time travel, and the worst of sins, a collection of objects of distinction,
The real mountain of gold, after the raining time, and after snowy tops,
Like the reality of golden times, and the mathematics of an ancient age.
Topic(s) of this poem: time