He is not the father, nor the son,
Not even the spirit that looked like tongues,
He came to control the three things that loot all away.
He fabricates the holy savvy,
And like a sow he would make every pool turbid,
Like a bad weather he would pet peter out your consciousness
And then take over your environment,
Like a succubus he would seduce you
But when you wake up you'd find you in a tunnel.
With a bloodless heart he rules the hades,
He hurts both the living, and the tombed,
Just like the blood of nature he takes any shape
That he may saturate any Tupperware.
His wisdom is witchery,
So he confuses it before the truth
That it may be savoury,
To be free from his venom
You most yearn for the truth,
And stay not dim.
©oswald
O