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WRITING ON THE WALL
WRITING ON THE WALL
Faded writing on the wall
I can read it, though faded
speaking of the lonely coming by
of in its own time God
slowly coming to the sense
that slithering around
the resounding entombed silence
and resurrecting good and evil alike
is a stitch in time which saves nine
and summons the war mongering heathens
infringements from the outer realm
to stir their seemingly acidic prejudice
towards all created reality
and denounce their pre disposed vexation
with an inescapable surrender
to a Spartan, spotlessly ordered
domain of set forth austerity
trembling in their supposed indifference
to trapped stale lay lines
found to be holding a thriving
viral fountain of time elapsed
wading waistline deep
in the surrounding sanctity
of heartfelt mourning for reverberating
and carelessness
in a format to which one can aspire
