The h2g2 Poem
Created | Updated Sep 3, 2003
Disease of Christmas
2003
Slashes of Black smashes apart the streaks of Red,
Blood heats up and rushes along the open veins of death,
Breaking, peeling, woven lace of ulcerated skin disintegrates,
Streaming fluid marking the point of lightening splintered lakes.
Rivers of iron pooling into the landscape of visual pain,
Life is over; people dying give this season of Red its name,
Christ is dead, reaching out to save us sinners from mortal dread,
Giving up the Ghosts of Christmas to save our wicked dead.
Striving to complete the madness that is you and me,
Finding terror of our reality in our empty is all you see,
Lightening strikes again,
Death is my name.
Churning, boiling, circling voice of satanic rites,
Coldly spacing out the secrets of stark, empty nights,
We harbour in our midst the blistering shells of evil minds,
Exploding the myth of the so-called Good of Mankind.
Nothing is the way it seems or ought to be in looks,
We hide ourselves in visions of fairy storybooks,
Soulless driven through our need for greed,
For the sake of Lust we will always succeed.
Is there really a reason for us to carry on?
As Life grows older while remaining the same,
Lightening strikes again,
Death is my name.
