Wings Spread Wide Upon Opened Blue Skies Of Lies-Part 2. Poem by Michael Gale

I cometh to new land's edge forth fro thee...
Ang'st of angered times warriors reach new heightened height's.

Bring wined of brews for thy crew...
Red goblets or green may yet fruitate obscene.

Clubb hit upon sidded of head...
Pray tell to lose a sudden dread.

Misty filled eyes of mothers brought sad...
For the boy of one once named bad.

Let us hunker around the camp fire's pire...
Sweat to forehead bequeeth one and all to perspire.

Unclamboring yields in wet open fields...
Of uncontrollable feast's denied full fruitation among'st
prosthetical miscreants of tomorrow's futureless denial of
inequity and baseless faceless interruptions on the moralless
few descendants and cousins of attrocity and it's failure's of man.