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El Fin
The phantasmic entities purged from their bodies by a drive-by gunning,
in which a mother was hit in crossfire
and the boy was shot bearing the seal of a gang on his throat,
spun through a rip between the nuclei of oxygen
and transported to a vertical plane in platonic philosophy.
The husbandman shook the branches of the two souls
and broke one
to allow another in its place with births of new clans.
And the grape transmuted into a melon by a heart of good deeds
he spread along the ISIS-Afghan front
to ingrain a new will.
But the split souls from the second tree drunk of natural blood,
not the blood of the lamb
suspended in a waning magnetic field
as the mystic breaks order,
do not wish to dissipate
with Gehenna below and the son pulled by the infinite blaze combusted of wayward men.
To the gold reflected off the miasmic pillars of the delight
the mother offers a trade of her soul,
catches palms with her fallen son,
and resolves to enlist in the torment below.
But Michael
emerged down from the raptured Holies
and speared a polymorphic mercury wave in the youth's arm.
Detached at the vanished joint and thrust into the fire,
the body popped like an insect in candle light,
while omnipresent moans arose from the still-flesh incessantly through the vibrant mound of the Mid-Beyond
where the metagravitons
draw the released ghosts to their respective celestial homes.
Holding only his forearm, the mother's tears broke off toward hell and at once
reversed in their crystalline visage
and trickled into the River of Life that forked the mist of the idyll north.
Gabriel descended to the Mid-Beyond and, with Michael, fluttered the reduced mother to the upper realms.
She flailed, but had lost her will to voice
because only praises or gnashing of teeth
where high enough frequency to vibrate through the expanse of spirit dust.
Disgustedly, Gabriel pried the arm from the catatonic mother
and launched it at the maned and cannibal sinners
that cultivated psychosis
to numb the shred of their burning,
for even motherhood was an instinct construed when trapped in the form of swine
with disease cured by the animal test of swine
because swine is all the nuclear unit will ever procure to be
and now reeking of chitterling from their exposed gut.
"Nauseating.
I don't know why you kept it.
You touched a whore of Satan,
the same as lionizing feces of a rat with a diet of its own stool."
Piercing the gates, escorted to the throne, the woman kneels to her God,
and she is happy.
The flowing light fries her mortal eyes that bust the circuits of her brain's reverie.
And so a new shape is given her
to exist in this place.
And
to her,
to every remaining host of the empyrean
except the Creator,
her baby is no more.
I thought to say,
"For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given,"
but
he is damned
now
in a scarlet pain
of the unforgiven.
in which a mother was hit in crossfire
and the boy was shot bearing the seal of a gang on his throat,
spun through a rip between the nuclei of oxygen
and transported to a vertical plane in platonic philosophy.
The husbandman shook the branches of the two souls
and broke one
to allow another in its place with births of new clans.
And the grape transmuted into a melon by a heart of good deeds
he spread along the ISIS-Afghan front
to ingrain a new will.
But the split souls from the second tree drunk of natural blood,
not the blood of the lamb
suspended in a waning magnetic field
as the mystic breaks order,
do not wish to dissipate
with Gehenna below and the son pulled by the infinite blaze combusted of wayward men.
To the gold reflected off the miasmic pillars of the delight
the mother offers a trade of her soul,
catches palms with her fallen son,
and resolves to enlist in the torment below.
But Michael
emerged down from the raptured Holies
and speared a polymorphic mercury wave in the youth's arm.
Detached at the vanished joint and thrust into the fire,
the body popped like an insect in candle light,
while omnipresent moans arose from the still-flesh incessantly through the vibrant mound of the Mid-Beyond
where the metagravitons
draw the released ghosts to their respective celestial homes.
Holding only his forearm, the mother's tears broke off toward hell and at once
reversed in their crystalline visage
and trickled into the River of Life that forked the mist of the idyll north.
Gabriel descended to the Mid-Beyond and, with Michael, fluttered the reduced mother to the upper realms.
She flailed, but had lost her will to voice
because only praises or gnashing of teeth
where high enough frequency to vibrate through the expanse of spirit dust.
Disgustedly, Gabriel pried the arm from the catatonic mother
and launched it at the maned and cannibal sinners
that cultivated psychosis
to numb the shred of their burning,
for even motherhood was an instinct construed when trapped in the form of swine
with disease cured by the animal test of swine
because swine is all the nuclear unit will ever procure to be
and now reeking of chitterling from their exposed gut.
"Nauseating.
I don't know why you kept it.
You touched a whore of Satan,
the same as lionizing feces of a rat with a diet of its own stool."
Piercing the gates, escorted to the throne, the woman kneels to her God,
and she is happy.
The flowing light fries her mortal eyes that bust the circuits of her brain's reverie.
And so a new shape is given her
to exist in this place.
And
to her,
to every remaining host of the empyrean
except the Creator,
her baby is no more.
I thought to say,
"For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given,"
but
he is damned
now
in a scarlet pain
of the unforgiven.
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