Locked Up Like Lucifer in Hell
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
He gropes for that immortal active verb,
That one you know, that every lover knows,
The total verb just waiting to disturb
The mortal gods that Jesus killed with blows
On spikes upon the central cross which spikes
The universe of love. Immortal acts,
That word he wants. He wants the endless Reichs
That Hitler dreamed of, like a verbal axe.
He knows, yes, knows the certain verb exists.
The Allah’s dictionaries hold it pure
As countless virgins. All the rest subsists
Because of that one word. His brain is sure.
The verb will cure his needs if only he
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