Sunday’s Sermon, the edge of earth.

The talk is the darken robes have reached earths edge
And now are falling off into the abyss of the grey mist
This chilling eternity is awaiting followers
To that delight of reaching earths end
The picture the aliens have painted
“ It came out of darkness their evil and whence it goes
It is replaced by unions of ill fitted, wise, and gained
Illegal ends of all kinds of doing
This was the world that was edgewise stained
Caught in the grey web falling off the edge
From earth to certain doom with all promise
In between all the lines are the Alien dooms
The aliens want or as the can is kicked down the road
Everything that is not paid by acclamation  
The moons are many have oil water and wish
For those that don’t know not manna from heaven
But Covid-19 our crucification and end.
Poetry is not of the weak of wills.