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Robert L. Martin

Devil’s Breath Anew

Microscopic cannon balls
fired from inferno pits,
the lungs of the
Prince of Darkness,
located a million miles
below the lowest heaven,
where eternal fires burn
through the night and day,
where the stench of death
is the breath of the Macabre,
the lovely scent of the Corona,
the perfume of the whores,
the devil’s army in full bloom,
 
the first invasion the weaker
where counter intelligence ruled,
where lab technicians dug in
then arose from the trenches,
where ammunition was born,
where the air was made pure again,
was how the battle was won.
 
The devil’s breath anew
flowing out of exhaling caves
aimed at human lungs and hearts
is in the fury of
the second invasion,
the tenacious disciples of the beast
rising again from the bowels
of hell’s inferno,
riding again in full armor
with earsplitting battle cries,
brandishing their spears
dipped in blood,
in an all out revenge.
 
Battles won and battles lost;
intelligence verses armies of
a persistent ignorance with
“Total Annihilation”
written on their banners.
Which will it be the next time?

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