Base can enter my spirit voice
to come out from the feet of my legs
My artillery may sloop and head may die
The world is about to kill myself
It has already crown myself
A range that amour gurgling spizzle
and wet an aura of ridding suns
Why not meditate, who measures fruit
of our quad
and why not it an unnecessary good?
Or who tend for tepid things
The spirit is dead
and the sun is lumped
Touch of the universe from ultimate
fusion, bearing the blood who swears
and fears that drops from the mouth
The baling eye that see darkness in the
coast of the house of sight
Raptors faith of tomorrow’s morrow
I need thermometer
I want to know the temp of mars
Earth and Jupiter must know
Do you mars, still breath in blood?
For the stars counted, where two million
and half
Ebi Robert
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mars-messiah/
