PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Imagine the bible of some other religion,

Clocks tick away something slipping,

Time is forever

And forever never existed.



Revitalized god, religion slipping,

Into the dust of someone else's memory.

The truth forever existed,

Until we got ready to answer questions.



Grasp the slipping memory

Of an old woman too crusted to rash,

Light beams from souless lamps.  In your time existed questions

That squeezed out a womb's mutation.



Lusted memory; rash

Attempts to justify life's fable

The poor freak questions mutation

Adjourned to a life of judging before hearts close.



Rash fables,

Can't hide death's coming,

Coming before we can spit on the fetus of yesterday's mutations

And hearts pump in offense to something defeaning.



We are lost on the friction of fables coming,

Reclaiming truth,  as we reaquaint fiction.



Closed defeaning,

solid-ear-drums,



Innocence going, fiction coming.

Reawaken the coffin of coma.



Loudly silenced by defeaning drums,

Exalted by failing mentality.