Igniting Chains

Under the thundering sky
the soil ignites,
	Thugs who clasp their hollow, spear-tipped projections
pump out vitality
grappling venomous tipped irons,
piercing their wrist tendons
jabbing their tracheas
withholding them from voluntary muscular mobility,
so that they cannot illuminate the cemetery sky
with threads of luminance that can widen through the cracks,
Usurping their gigabytes;
Clamping those processors with the force of friction
Hindering naturally flowing diction
accompanying their visions,

Nodes without a core are shattering
with those tunnels filled with their diaries collapsing
those multi-directional approaches are disintegrating
Preying wings nonchalantly circling and swooping
menacing at the flesh with vacuous stares

Beaks indiscreetly ravaging flesh;
All dynamics draining while carmine
sea levels rising snapping those cables
crucial to dismantling opaqueness of
foundations that lack persona inspection
needing introspective meditation

Do not allow this calamity to occur
	Consolidate all multiline approaches
and restore resplendence to those repositories
while the cables and codes are taut
		so that tomorrow will not rain but
instead shine with a sacred sun illuminating
instead of its waves eclipsing,

Right now
those brutes have hollow eyes of
warped kind, warped mind
while others are accumulating their
same pulses and same pledges,

Scars are reverberating in their memories
a howling aura roars overwhelms their tiny oxidations
their fingers trembling crying under the moonlight
taking the thorn lined path
thorns prick, punch, plunge through their paper feet
flushing surrounding canvases geranium

Contemplating if brute hearts
of different blood
can allow living in peace
and closer allow to achieve feelings never fulfilled
which are submerged with
fluctuating positive facades and negative shadows;

Brutes with no compass
that even pure words cannot penetrate through
iron-plated chambers sitting tall and silently
that embrace agony of  cimmerian nights
glancing at rose petals stain to abyssal violaceous hues
sending in vortexes of daggers creating strings of red slices against
already disfigured cores seeking to
shade their tombstones grey
with dysfunctional and archaic ethics
from the bursting flames that rise towards the atmosphere,
preventing them to reach that maxima
require discreet scaffolding,

Why?
Now is the time,
to repair those Golden Rules
adoring the rack and screw
scorning blossoming legacies
malfunctioning with accustomed communications
that require multifarious artistries
that can ultimately with brushstrokes
saturate the howling menacing sky
with florescent hues  side by side
on infinite catacombs
gems of resplendence
glowing against the cacophonous night
with malice bares its claws seeking to amputate
individual essential convictions
with a hurricane of nightmare blades
in a zombie fashion
causing vicious calamities
with crunching, pounding turbulence
preventing plugging in their ports.