Cowards bequeath Cowardice.
The pedophile teachers inseminate lies.
The tyrannical power is nothing but a whiff,
Just some under skilled guilt in disguise.
I’m here to rub the same muck you spilled on The Wordsmith's, in addition to the narrative you tried to construct, like a little cowardice covert speed breaker that has been flattened into dung.
Now that’s a poetic catastrophe.
I’ve chosen my side. It’s always for the Creator and directly in opposition to yours.
To,
The Midgets behind the curtain:
Hideous, hideous, did I conclude,
Echos the Wordsmith's prelude,
Seeking peace and tranquility did I depart for,
Hunger for depth, media and celluloid did I elude.
Until the silence
Was taken for weakness
The phony pulpit clowns
With their “holy phony meekness”.
Did I lose my cool…
When they messed with my house?
They fabricated a vindictive perverse reality
About me and my beloved spouse.
In the Most High did I trust,
I came bearing explosive gifts in season
Tis is what you get for messing with a youth,
Picking on the curious without reason.
Like a proper pecked out soul,
Am I blacklisted for most secular works;
Unbeknownst, I’ve been segregated for this very purpose,
With sincerity around the place Joel lurks.
Like a Knight following the NorthStar,
I came before the curtain, opening the scroll,
Throwing every deceiver into the fan
Eating them on my website like Snow in My Bowl.
The Creator’s opened me avenues
Of streams like the river of affluence
Perfect camaraderie like eagles with like feathers
I gloat in the dismantling of The Invisible Men of influence.
Rebutting their fraudulent narrative,
Left them scratching their delusional head
The Wordsmith's Guild boldly secure,
While you’re tormented on the swine bed.
.
