The Party Pooper is the one
Who spoils the party. Fact not myth.
Sometimes we are so blinded, wearing blindfolds
We cannot see the truth at the end
Of one’s nose. Lies only make Pinocchio
And lies, next to Geppeto, looks a lot like
“Thou shall not bear false witness”
The storm-makers, they come and go
Lies hurled out with the nasal wind,
Banishing boats and boats-men,
To lonely islands. Still I will make this island
My Camelot, my utopian design,
I will come for you like the blade of the tide
Hurling giant wrecks out of the ocean floor
I will thirst for the bunched coconut fruits
Banish them like stumpy Lilliputians
The truth, my truth, comes out like an echo
Clawing every ruptured tymphanic membrane.
There are no arks for the nefarious, they are
Wiped out from history, like cowards are,
Those who loot man for no reason,
Just so that they can rule and ruin,
Brine surrounds me here, salting my legacy
Every passing word. The nefarious, will
Gloat of their petty victories, until there is no breath
To exhale. Death by pomp, is a tragic death,
When there is nothing left to regather,
But exploding organs inside a puny body,
Bursting out like a balloon parade.
Every boom, a cheer for Lucifer.