Could I still be the hidden mines in the
Straits of Hormuz, waiting to detonate
at every approach of a ship! Or the zebra in
your kitchen, turning your misbegotten culinary
into a wild rampage of upturned pots and saucers!
Or would I be Hamlet putting his sword to rest
to feed on your cheesed crackers, forgetting his
call of duty? Ask Macbeth, how much blood the
old man had in him? And if all the perfumes of
Arabia could sweeten your noxious hands? And think
how you cannot even tame a shrew; with all your cuckoo-crew!
How you cannot salvage your eternity, when you are in a quagmire
of soullessness, but be one among the raptors
feeding on each other in the depths of the ocean!
Would I be in a quandary when I am invoked to show
patience and restraint, but still plot your hapless fate in destiny?
Has anyone gotten away scot-free, in time, for causing
harm to me, even though collateral damage and comeuppance
take time. O time! Sweet nectar in my cup, that I sip all
too gracefully and gradually; that my detractors think
they have won their victories by sabotaging me and
subverting the truth. I am avowed and sworn to an ultimation
of Calvinist infralapsarianism. No temporary death or destruction
of me will terminate that eventuality for the treacherous ones against me!
montes-musings.blog 