Trapped On Venus

I've licked the dusty Darfur sands
to taste a story that has spanned,
from seed to bloom, obscurant Man's
D. Muscipula of murder schemes.

I've breathed in motes of crystal shards
from Goebbels-inspired hate canards;
frost molecules and advant-garde
for six million Holocaust screams.

I've dipped my tongue in Newton's ship
and sampled salted blood that dripped
as clots of freedom pious-whipped
off Amazing Grace's birthing slaves.

I've inhaled sickly-sweet perfume
from each ascending soul consumed
by starveling Genocide, then plumed
above butchered Bosnia's mass graves.

And from my travel's, I've returned
to discourse lessons cruelly learned;
Man is the Light, the candle burned
to beacon angels of the Fall.

When that bell tolls in Satan's Tower,
and he sobs, "Appointed Scour!" -
Rise, Earthworms!  (Hell's lovely flowers!)
And from the guts of Slaughter...crawl!