The Saints
     of God
         Poem:

                                 ~Cory Morrel

 

 

   The earth has become such a dangerous place like bloody thorns and pricked fingers tacked on the stems of thistles that are sharp as stickers.

   The staff of war sickled through the genocide sediment of the ground, causalities unalive predicament fertilizer scorched skeletal figure in a sharp fatal fickle, but the sacrificed enslaved dizzy simpleminded chained the tither of the ox's horns fiery flare chamber burning out of control and spun the spindle.

 

    The wages of the dwindle heinous guerillas truffle and trifle indignant nefarious malignancy, unleashing malignant wraths of ostensions sin scorned coalition militias baffled leery martyrs' assignment ended done.