Congested confusion fogged his thoughts,
manipulating multitudes of anger
infested his inferior self esteem,
estranged from society's norms,
he tripped down acidic avenues,
downed the raindrops one by one,
"to hell with this world, I'll make my own fun."
Theism theories piled in pyramids,
savoring savior concepts they'd follow,
"I'll be their answer to questions,
giving simple purification
to the spineless pack of searchers,
they will stand straight, honor me,
I'll unblind the blinded,
give them a new decree."
A village of the voiceless,
deprogramming deistic beliefs,
absorbing his abnormalities freely,
his commune of collected created,
worshipping wanderers converged,
taking homage, they knelt and prayed
to their false god,
in shrine shrouds they laid.
He couldn't go alone,
needing company for the journey,
he took their lost souls in his pockets,
to a realm beyond the throne.
Fleeing freely from the flock,
their hearts filled with distorted trust,
swept up with his unholiness,
they blew away as dust.
Nancy Lanza
January 3, 1999
Copyright © 1999