A tempest of uncertainty flows through the bristles
as the hound of the gods descends from the moon
and pierces the fool's throat
a midnight jaunt, now a violent haunt
as the clown now dancles a jingle
The minaret of the mosque it crowds with jinn
that stay afloat on it's roof
as they partake of gin and other sorts
screaming their pain into our unhearing thoughts
Nightmares of unending pleasure
The cross of the Son
as it bleeds in the Sun
and his wicked disciples
rot in the Mud, eaten eternally by crows
or worms or toads
it matters not, their woes
The three headed god of Endings cuts
through the paper that separates us
and as the clock ticks closer to the doomsday Twelfth
the Death of the world it seems Nigh
and the world it comes together to Sigh
and in a breathless fury of passion
the roar of an angels lips
the temptestous cry of a shaking world
the thrust of a lovers hips
It comes to an end
Absurdity, as we all the while drown
a Breath escapes
without a sound
--Izar (https://www.instagram.com/izar.writes/), 19/9/2023
Read more of their works: https://allpoetry.com/poem/17348966-The-Sickle-screams-as-it-falls-by-Izar
Theme : Social Criticism, Satire