The riumphed song of Fargle-Wargle rang into the night,
Wings in tatters outspread,
Lust hongorous for the fleeble world through more fleeble might.
Jonking of dark scaled beasts reverberate in celebration,
Thousand of burnt flags raised,
Shouts and beatings of snyls slowly rise in escalation.
Demonstrations of praise.
The riumphed song of fargle-wargle came to its own end
Claws brought angrily forth.
Dattering of feet only against the silence would rend,
Before him his life’s worth.
Flames as if from hell erupt before the fargle-wargle,
From his sinified smile, hands, wings, and every gesture,
Sky filled with his being.
Flames, eternal flames consume his rotting fleeble being,
Silence, all dead silence.
(c) Bret Sears – 2011