Seraph’s Phrases

When my lows come slow,
Vowels howl as wolves
And words draw sword,
Forcing me to listen, silent.
My smile stinks of slime,
Of bread stuck in the beard
Of a crooked sage for ages.
Retribution seems in order
For my arch nemesis
When shadows show ads
Of live, aimed, evil media
That has sewn and tied
The news edit.

I’m reminded of almoners,
Playing their roles, man,
While others starve for vaster,
Steamier emirates.
e.g. Ron may be a goner,
But he’ll smuggle muggles
From Antioch to China,
As Tom Marvolo Riddle
Declares, “I am Lord Voldemort”,
While a solitary royalist
Rambles about marbles
So golden, they’re longed for.

It seems a sesame lets
A peon open caves of wonder,
As a time signal tells him
When the mail gets in.
But a rendition of arms
Turns Mars inordinate,
And stern graders
Regard rents they’ll pay
For the ship in disuse, issued
To them by the posted despot
Whose ragged dagger
Dilates the details.

I want to shatter threats
That waste my sweat,
Eroding my ignored ego,
And lease an easel to
Paint, however inapt,
An untidy nudity that isn’t
So alarming to the marginal
As a tailored idolater
Lamenting alignment
With the Devil who lived.

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