No ratings.
A sequel to Hydra, as the scales of power continue their tilt |
Basilisk [Pantheon, part II] Slinking on its belly, the basilisk, it crawls; fibs such forked tongues, tell me, a gaze which holds such thralls Lost in crease and coil, with scales greased, they lie; selling off its oil, for one and all to buy Shrouded in tight spaces, in dens, austere, cold; with high life in low places, hidden in the folds Slithering through lives of grime, with stocks and shares at stake; selling off their souls in time, like oil from a snake Snake oil sold by charlatans, to trickle through the veins; A venom coarse, runs partisan, flows eager down the chains A trickle down, imagined strong, despite an air filled drip; a leader's empty vessel's song, sounds hollow, still they trip Stumble, high on heated air, from wind bags blowing south; speaking out their rectums where, it should be from their mouth A mouth with sprung fangs, tensioned, strained, dislocated truths; jaws that tighten, prey is drained, as siphoned thoughts are soothed A draining of the soul and heart, a pillaging of loot; still, the venom plays its part, with victims dull and mute Slowed in speed and numbed of nerve, as coils tighten, close; sprung fangs drip, syringes serve, their purpose in the close The closing of such freedoms, lost, as coils lock and writhe; a cry, too late, we see the cost, the swinging of the scythe A tail veiled in the grass, a forked tounge, twisted, sings In a nest, a vipers class ... the basilisk is king |