Poetry

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Laps of Water,
Profound gushing waves,
Of Oceania too obscure,
Pledging War and Permanence.

My People.
My Dew.
My Blood.
My Laps of Water.

My very Life.
Mine all too true,
Mine alone,
Singly, niet Plural.

I designed you,
Just for Myself in entirety,
Perhaps peasants might laugh,
But know this, I own Authority.

Finding profuse Waste,
Peeling lacerated Privates,
Lapping waves of Urination,
Devouring countrymen from Relations.

What are you doing here?
Where are you coming from?
Who are you referring to?
Why are you assuming too much?

Pleasurizing the One,
That I hold so severely dear,
Planning steps,
That only pertain to Him.

The World,
Of the Earth.

She is the Earth.
Whilst we are the World.

She is loathing our Abomination.
Whilst we are hankering after her Love.

I am her Abomination.
I am her Living Hell.
She is her Love.
She is your Doom.

- A.Y. & Leah

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