Our final hour draws near
As the pillars of the earth
Are raised above the threshold
The human condition
In a hideous state
of primeval primitivity
It's tribal, and civilized devices
Our cherished, but brittle
and unstable societal constructs
Have been refined and pondered upon
By wisemen and great minds for a millennia
But they remain all the same.
of gold and jewel hoarding merchant swine
Or the Lord of the land which still
Holds in his hand the peasant lives
have existed Since the days of Christ.
Fortunes and prestige was made
On backs of the slaves of man
No longer slaves of one color or origin
Be it the blindly led masses
ready to be molded for purpose
like ***** of clay, or those
Who exist to fill a pair of Jack boots
To crush any who oppose the will of few
Imposed upon the liberty and lives of the many
Kept in listless contention
Cattle cargo kept calm and in comfort
In the moments before slaughter
No use for livestock who
no longer can be soothed
By the noise of the static which has kept them subjugated for many thousands of years
Slaves, by whatever name designated
As a product of which the era produced for them
Today still remained shackled
Even as they no longer have chains
To bind the spirit or flesh
The forgotten
Will not be extinguished
They writhe in ancestral rage
Their enemy oppressors
Shall be cleansed as pennance
In the fires of retribution
The end will be swift
with haste the winds of changes
Which will blow with the sands of time
Eroding the stone inscribed with the epitaph of humanity, that reads
"What hope could there be, for us, when the light that we possessed
Our compassion, the goodness of man,
is something learned in preference of morality and not inherent in our soul'
And bring the torrent of uncivilized upheaval
Tearing us like weeds from their earthly respite
Grinding and rending us in our vessels
back into the soil and seas.
Relinquished to the warn embrace
of our celestial mothers womb
As she plants the cosmic seeds
Sowed in the brilliance of her aeons
And which grew the bountiful harvests
that fueled our creation
And let us to thrive
as we found our way
through a cruel,
but natural order of selection
The anomallic flux
In a fluid plasticity of
Biological machinations