Faux Byzantine
Cast nets of rusted steel upon the muddles massThe serpentine faux Byzantine crawls through the grass,
Brazen hybrid idol of dirty, broken mirrors hid in splinters and webs.
In puddles of congealing double speaking rhetoric designed to openly conceal
Stealing time like walls of lime building barriers between words and meaning
The Seal of State will fence with Fate and sooner or later commence to leaning
Weening violent infant gangs of parricides from the bottle of vitriol dispensed
By the sickeningly condensed version of notes left teetering cliff side
Deriding herds of blindly lost in caustic programmes hosting pogroms
Draped in burning tatters, smattering of red and blue and white
Something flammable set to ignite, the Night is burning with clues
Time to break the bands, surreptitious demented hands work to set the record straight as crooks;
Cast nets of rusted steel upon the muddled mass
The serpentine faux Byzantine crawls through the grass . . .
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
Read 834 times
Written on 2016-03-24 at 23:36
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text