The Sophist

2014-09-25 12:00 am

Decay and the rifle alone. Censored by Gods as 
cold winter snow passes men stuck in glop as 
it blows. Who knows? What the fuck does a soul 
call a home? Accepting ideals without gloves 
being shown. Refuting belief but still knowing 
that something transcends all of time, space, 
math, and the know-how. Gloating but feeling 
in pain for lost souls turned wayward, 
corrupt, or depraved by the fallout.

Take it in, as it turns out, by talking in 
strides with the crowds. Softly speak glop 
when it counts. Slowly speak up, and never 
speak out.

The Paraffin One

2014-09-25 12:00 am

Empty Silence tops a rattle of chain,
A whores horse then tries to evade.
To no avail, assailants fear no pain.
Those that must then ply their trade.
Grasping flail, to no avail legitimate,
For none is literate in God.
Often assumption made inconsiderate,
For law cares not if grass is sod.
That said, what lies here is often not.
Opinion tends to be but a clod tempest,
Consensus leaning toward an insane plot,
Mass opine religion of uneducated priest.

Green reds now shake with blue collars.
Only masons of insured welfare collard'.