Dead Moon Rising Poem by Mason Maestro

Run along the good gestations

Like the swarming bees in the sun

Can be the songs of elation

That was never meant to be sung

By a hand under frustration

Candy or currant bun

Give it a taste but not to be savored

Before they make me run



Draw out the fiscal plague

Press into material form

If you see those blind opinions

Do what's due, then outperform

A future-bound vexation

Deviancy from the norm
Cynical pinnacle wagon

To death until it's born



Come before the crystal lash

Before the critters come
Before the dead moon rises
Before a lowered thumb
Before the beating of the drum
Before our time, we'll see

Before our Lord returns

Coming off the execution tree

Scratched out a doggerel verse or two
And walking so damn tall
Holy ghost, seven-mile post
Penitence brought down to a crawl
Scourged and stripped in Roman fashion
Redemptive death it is the passion
Sanhedrin bed tomb inspection sizing
With a cold shine of a dead moon Rising