Doomsday Or Tomorrow Poem by dan hightower

Smokestack prophecy spirals truths like instruments of agitation, rhetoric flies through fissures to elude the briskly blowing winds of change, wreaking a new turmoil over the inspired, the doomed soothsayers of doomsday sayings telling the sad lies to the needy eyed pupils purveying the landfill of sanctity with their wandering eyes and shady glances, romances steeped in warm blood offering the solution to the anomaly as yet entertained, the rambling stallion of thought, weeping muse, dangled fruit, flirtation with your abysmal domain, tainted joy so easily stripped of feeling, a trench of worry erupting with a flow of smoke, trickling upwards like a devastated angel, angry to leave the comforts behind, angry to find hallowed ground, angered to have wasted the flesh with disdain for the senectitude never achieved, constraint not achievable, tears will no longer fall, flurries of warmth are cold and grey, the butterflies in the stomach now cocoons waiting for the next phase, the rebirth, rebuilding of soul in new forms, latitudes crossed which are equatorial and damaged now, frozen tyme calling from that darkness where the murky stems of the past now are frayed with winter’s relentless cold fingers pinching life from them until they wither, like the smoke, spiraling out of control as I am now, agitated truths to be found in lines of rhetoric aimed to fill fissures larger than my filling can accomplish, the sky now open and dismal, is this doomsday or just tomorrow?