Out of desert skies,clear blue,
come cometary tails,
bright stones of hollow death,
on missions high,
as white as angels,
bearing salts of sand...
upon us drop...
these bombs,
from Satan's soup kitchen...
brews of curdled alchemy,
of every kind...
of heavy metals,
semen seed...
viral blood of demon kind,
atomic number 5...
as all hell,
hallowed,
by the government...
is sanctified...
and we are left to question...
why...
for god sake...
why,
yet every uniformed
protector
of our land deny,
those broad
and obvious
chemtrails in the sky...
the media ignore
as doctors play a spade,
and call it nothing more
than...valley fever.
Is this to be our score...
our song of epitaph,
as we succumb to dust,
that honey pots of devils deal us daily...
and nightly,
sowing every subtle
current in the air...
to measure when
the final sleep will come?
I think...yes.
Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016
Photo credit: currently unknown
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