Preachers of Parasites (a poem)

Tangled up, perpetual twisting
Gazing at the gray horizon,
The silent sky falls and
Blankets me, as we always knew
It would, as it was predicted
By preachers of parasites.

When the sky falls, all is one –
stars ignite the Earth, and I am
The last man alive – but this
Is only a recurrent nightmare,
My analyst says,

my martyr complex is too much
To bear – they say there are
Deaths of despair in our communities;
this century will be the one,

When Jesus returns, and none of us
Will be redeemed, because globalism
Means, we’re implicated in a vast web
Of corporate cesspools of greed.

(Photo by Felipe Palacio on Unsplash)

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