Crazed are the glossy depths
of the desperate acolytes’ orbs
when the magnetic pulse
of dear leader’s sway
repulses at rock bottom
and all the wares
they’ve been sold on selling
scatter in thin air
lacking resonance of attraction
because filthy ideas
beget festering fallout
and treacherous hands
are soiled thick with sin
Spun a tired spell on the surface
with iron-fisted authoritarian wands
but those sorts of hastily crafted illusions
come woven with a transparent veneer
and when inverted hexes rupture
by the nature of their own twisted design
it’s a sad state of affairs to witness
foggy minds slowly returning to reason
Mercifully
the age of confusion
reached crescendo
during the seventh howling
of Luna’s eclipse
and tipped the scales
back toward
a righteously awakened
spirit of humanity
spiraling hot
with frenzied charms
of renaissance
