--By Junior L.
I was the flower of the century,
Love drowned my sensuality,
A mere skull for the king of truth,
On his hands were the wars for hatred,
Upon which, He called a truce,
So dear to me were the pain I inflicted,
I was the flower of eternity,
Lions of gratitude,
Thankful for the hollowed bones,
Do you not know fool?
Misery is deceived by my skull,
the repugnancy of my deception,
Withered grass carried the whispers of the hollowed bones,
Inflicted upon itself the anger from the Almighty's tone,
Indeed, fool,
You shall drown in the hollowed bones.
Namaste.
Amen.