By Thomas Page

Behemoth

Behold mighty Behemoth
Howling in sounds arcane
Making the world anemic
To its power amain.

Its teeth gnawed shade yellow
With choleric humour
The many souls made hollow
In their mandated stupor.

However can I portray
The disasters before me?
The ruins tossed anyway
Like an old spent fusee?

A spoken jeremiad
Fallen on deaf ears; A speech
Given to an ichthyoid
Staring at veins like a leech.

Retirement east of
Eden in the desert of
The Behemoth. Oxen of
Ishtar battering stronghold.
Leviathan

The rain poured heavily by my window,
The thunder crashed into the wood of the tree,
And the light flooded into my room.

I thought of the leviathan
Parting the seas
And dumping it onto the house.

Formless and formed
The monsters of the pagans
Lumped in with the devils and demons.

How could a sound be any louder
Than lighting becoming thunder by your head
On a dark-filled midnight hour?

I’d imagine that only the howl of the leviathan
Would rival the sound to jolt you awake
From a fading nightmare.

Facing something older than time
Immemorial looking you in the iris
Watching the light disappear.

Ziz

The world looks so quaint from above
All while the people mill about
Worrying about whatever they may doubt.
The world looks so quaint from above.

I could be like the seahawk
And dive down for the fishes
Or whatever my bird brain wishes.
I could be like the seahawk.

Or maybe like the vulture
And be content with the roadkills
Making Michelin out of the quills.
Or maybe like the vulture.

Possibly the cardinal
Finding joy in seeds
And not thinking of their deeds.
Possibly the cardinal.

Perhaps the hummingbird
Who gets to hover over the flowers
And beats its wings with such powers.
Perhaps the hummingbird.

The world looks so quaint from above
All while the people mill about
Worrying about whatever they may doubt.
The world looks so quaint from above.

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