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
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