G.R.O.S.P.

Part XII

“Litrope”

Enemies are everywhere.

I have unfortunately formed many

During this imminent quest.

Now I have formed yet another.

Nature has come to play.

-The hated victor

The clouds have come to merge

For another altered-dome-sparked war

It was anticipated that a spell will spark

An end to this dry rain in the dark

Until the center is re-oriented to the spore,

Spiritual love and hatred will never diverge

I have witnessed yet another fight

Within this land

A battle but bland

Without leaving a trail until out of sight

A rope can light on fire in the heavenly night

An invitation received from a weary hell

Tied together in a sweet, unbearable smell

In a watery storm

Deviating from the norm

On the borderline of robust, letting the flame die

On a trio of virtual wings, the wind won’t ever fly

Bound in iron chains

Unless it never rains

Sought within the intertwinement of darkness and light

A golden but heated bolt from the gray

Underneath a blue translucent hollow sphere

When the rain alarms all who virtually listen

Only a prime bloodblock can prevent the glisten

Of the bedrock powered engine in the rear

On where it wishes to permanently stay

The sun has ceased to appear

In the light

Apart from a fight

It refuses to define a ball so sincere

A rope can light on fire in the unpatched storm

A wounded purgatory without a seat

If the lonely vapor trail wants to embrace heat

Underneath a chair

In the hero’s black lair

When the orange rod smooches the shore

Only if it is destined to rewrite the lore

Will it surely fail

Or break the pail

A block of melted ice dying to personify warm

When the litrope is finished with its role

A solar fireball undergoes its next pole

On the edge of virtue

I heard an airship in the distance.

My fears have once again

Greeted me with

A wicked smile.

And my death is the slot

In the casino of interrogation.

-The unlucky witness

Copyright© 2018 Gerry Kramer.

Poetry