Wiseman - A poem about pillaging men taking the knee to Mother Mary
Wiseman (The Hardness of Man Meet the Mother to Death/Forgiveness) By IVY Wiseman crawls his cowardly and callus body across the desert, starving for the fire to sweat his warlike slavery out of addiction. Pathetic in his chasing dreams, he reeks of flesh, having lost his heart, stolen out of his chest, he grieves the fire of his mother to destroy his destroying hands, sweating the taste of foul play, a game he played for the win of lifeless money. The fire strikes the bush where he awaits death, awaiting the snake to take him out. His harden eyes shock awake as his life force erupts while his frozen body throws him into dismantled bones, crackling spine, skin sliding off like a sly fox tearing at flesh, detaching his navel from his pelvis as his hips smash into screams of the pitch black with nothing but the red fire of a massive exploding sun. The shadows of beasts wind his silent fire to stop his ashes from soaking the earth. The roots of him deepen down to touch the apex