The Waking God



temperanceWhispering it stirs,
Limbs upon limbs
With hypnotic terrifying grace;
Like water
Laced with toxicity.
Forming and reforming.
In darkness,
Ancient and confining,
It moves towards waking;
A slow procession
Marked by funeral dirge.

Like lucidity in dreaming,
Push outward and upward,
Viral and alien.
Victims see,
But only in part;
Only false forms,
Only enough
To be drawn deeply into the throes
Of madness and mind control;
Possessed and oppressed,
Serving a will not their own.

In twilight
Between wake and dream.
It slumbers,
Yet restless grows.
Feeding the fields;
Ripening the world.
Sharpening unseen sheers
It waits,
When at last,
This world is made right for harvest.


About St Basil Z Fish

Curator of the strange and incredibly awkward. A rambling writer with the misguided notion he has something to say. His only redeeming qualities are his wife and children.
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