I'm going to say the same thing here that I said on DeviantART. This is the first submission of a series called "Hestia's Lament." I will continuously update about once a week. Obviously, religion /economics.


There's an economy being composed of Armageddon;

it gleams in the mouth of a biscuit sliding down Mount Sinai.

And the stigma of our Angiosperm swallow Scripture,

as if the next page might be that anticlimactic hyperbole of a universal Pompeii.

Our eloquent cubit has suits slinging technicolor Seers,

with a different date, waffling weight, and imminent Fate.

We pause for the waltzing copper alloy in upside-down snow cones...

...as it rings a melting melody across freezing hot housing projects.

Every 7th we pay homage to splinters and monotone marsupial perceptions;

thinking of being elsewhere but the present.

We fear a looming effigy with no earthly calendar,

when the talking box announces a date we wait...the biscuit slides...

...and we are sitting at the bottom to find it;

soggy.