The Throne Poem by (TPAC) Alexander Coppedge

Waves in the water, a log floats, rolling to ripple on the grass, in this swamp's bog, pitch dark tips, viewing shots of voices, figures, walked fog smoke vapor life.

Steps creep beside the gigantic river that flowed, aside a wet bath sound traveling a path splashes, beneath flapping leaves reside their bright eyes.

Locusts, trounced by all this, must walk the forest, dust on the trail zipping in a gust, all it is by wrinkling, slowly first then fast go turn that low in the night.

Mirages desperately at a mound curling up a zip this mountain, seeking a fountain that's gleaming high, cries of pain loudly to leave or up walk a hill.

Life that is enclosed its tide state men torments, rippling dreadful ride it's disclosure hate torturing, seen souls lowest fears a slide dooming the liars.

Lightning at ray surging from sky making thunder, end of day the crackling sound its sharps flashes, pruning tones darkness way defies evil authority.

Throne targeting those who flee right justice put guilty, not any rats it hid to its nest for rest, exist it nice none among them paid it is price hurt fears.

God's say laws a Mount ruling to state truths way, to stay His facts known Lord's justice it's to trust, defy any evil watch He's our King of Kings forever.