CANTO I
I
Gum-filled streets plagued the highway
A man's forlorn expression, how he cries
"The end is nigh; let's be high"
Chemists declared 420 is a mystical affair...
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Naturally must be exorcised
Beware, for His crystallised visions
Terrify even the most pernicious eye, of a hawk's precision
Gliding on jubilance; a Biologist's spectacle!
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Keen to prepare their petri slides
Putridly scented in nature, yet still useful
Surveying fragments of their dreary, regretful,
Lab-induced teary mice, devoid of sorrow...
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At least thou art equipped with Oxbridge blue-eyes
Producing an elixir of opalescent cries,
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and utter terrors, of tranquility
For though they occupy an equal area of harmony,
they yearn for equity.
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II
Sacre bleu! The Do-Goaders are outraged
How can one in such an age, o' the Freemens
Use test-subjects; o, thy heathens!
Didst, thou forget to memorise thy specification?
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Those symbols of Nature, decaying silently
Unto a masque, of piety.
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Purge thy sins; translate thee into the legacy,
of the Opportunistics.
E'en though the Do-Goaders' testament hath succumbed,
to the force, o' the Narcissistic.
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And let the whitish-blue mist, stem the ultimate stream
of thy barracks, of useless dreams.
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III
But the Scientists are not thy Saviour(s)
Only work in their self-centred favours,
they scoff.
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Divinity and charismatic experiences
Likely dealt a vicious hand of narcotic obliqueness;
taste their sweetness,
Taste the blandness of the kaleidoscope o' Ambiguity!
***
The Scientists decided, to dote upon the mystical, remote
aspects o' Nature herself, and her fleeting company.
The search for a much-needed antidote was necessary,
to combat rifles, of gluttony.
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Points: 43
Reviews: 32
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