She tells the lies of the Marxist
with satan in her heart.
A critic of everything, except her
own resentment.
She blows into the fire, summoning up
the darkness.
She sings only to the lost, while they write poetry
to the demonic.
She usurps, mocks, and curses. The white singes
and smokes ’til it turns black.
She lap dances for the unclean, she sucks but like
her pride she does not swallow.
He was shot through the throat! His voice got louder,
proliferating throughout Christendom!
Her voice will die with her, but not before her soul!
.
Published by Smith Shine Poetry
I am my poetry, my poetry is me. I pray what I believe. I believe what I pray.
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Smith Shine Poetry