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forest-kvasnikoffPoems
No longer let our voices fall to a whispering march of death. Jam your baritones and inflections through songs for a god gone dead Make the earth shudder under your footsteps as you let the wind take the pages like a flickering flame Make your presence known through the howling sleet and rain - scream in the faces of distorted kings, spit on their robes and **** in their eyes Cast your fury like the waves and witness the smoke of god vanish in the shadow of a cat, feast upon the words that wither like the grass Smear the self indulgent prophets in sweat and mud, drown the child of the Euphrates and **** on his holy stone Go horse in your burning wrath, ******** wretched Isaiah, suffocate him in the wallowing tears of Job, let the blood of your hatred flow like wine Drink of your consummate supplication steeped in rage and disgust. Let it sustain you to shake the pillars and columns of his temple to the ground Dictate your commands and bask in the boundless power your existence brings to bear upon the weak and know you and the fake god you hate are one. This is an old one from my depreciated poetry blog found here: http://www.letthewords.blogspot.com/
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Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 7:55 PM UTC
The Thunder of David #68: In the Fifth Tone
No longer let our voices fall to a whispering march of death. Jam your baritones and inflections through songs for a god gone dead Make the earth shudder under your footsteps as you let the wind take the pages like a flickering flame Make your presence known through the howling sleet and rain - scream in the faces of distorted kings, spit on their robes and **** in their eyes Cast your fury like the waves and witness the smoke of god vanish in the shadow of a cat, feast upon the words that wither like the grass Smear the self indulgent prophets in sweat and mud, drown the child of the Euphrates and **** on his holy stone Go horse in your burning wrath, ******** wretched Isaiah, suffocate him in the wallowing tears of Job, let the blood of your hatred flow like wine Drink of your consummate supplication steeped in rage and disgust. Let it sustain you to shake the pillars and columns of his temple to the ground Dictate your commands and bask in the boundless power your existence brings to bear upon the weak and know you and the fake god you hate are one. This is an old one from my depreciated poetry blog found here: http://www.letthewords.blogspot.com/
forest-kvasnikoff
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forest-kvasnikoff
American
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 7:55 PM UTC
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