A Mad Dementia

Heresy! Be known! Heresy!
A roving Madentia I say!
Wot this Mania be skittlish;
Tart O' Whys, Demise too whitish?

Equus Asinus to prose-a-bray;
Just whom art thou, Molded-Clay?
If it be Catastrophe, thine Potter!
O' Vanities of vanities, saith the Preacher!

Cherubs much too oft' lie veiled;
Tonnes of thous'd Scoffers knavishly twiggy;
Suppose 'tis nay every-I, unveiled...
May it be, perhaps, mimed by Sire Toad Von Nietzsche?

Indeed so purely lavish-a-folly, reflected Sire;
Dost a Monssoen true galvanic, past in void Dire?
A roving Mad-entia, Heresy glued!
A beggar vexing a scrounger, how lewd!

Generations seemingly frisk thro' Metamorphosis;
Evolution's Musick, e'er-flowering Apostasies!
A Parody! Satirical Mockery sweetly blankets Jack Hinny;
Carousal Von Historia! 'Twas Old Nick's Sweetie!

Still is! Her remains crisply tarry so;
The said shall linger limbo slow;
'Till the Appointed, chimes Twelve Woes...
Unraveling a Mad Dementia,
Christened, glowing thus...
Smitten indeed,
Endured.


-Leah