The New Grotesque

There’s a new grotesque in the westwork of the church, at the apex of a spire, it lurks.
Countenance contorted, gnarled to a smile, snarling as its fingers writhe about some prize
That it found, or was rewarded, now it’s bound by its chimeric form of the Goblin-Wolf;
Erlking and courtaud entwine and result engulfed into the squadron of daemons
Perched above the people, leering from their steeples rousing fears that steer
Them into the cathedral of the Golden Throne. . . Its pose, Onerous, before, though,
it was ownerless, and unknown; free to roam and express, Now set in stone, tis mere grotesque.

The Folky Goblin Lucifer climbed to the crest by way of Hunky-Punk vernacular,
Inactive, now, he rests. Iconic and Ornamental, tis a chronic reference to all illiterates
By Zealots, eliciting a belligerent imbalance as the image is in sponsorship of an
Executive Dictatorship that gravitates around a golden throne- STOP

Spotlight the throne- Watch it. Glistening, So enchanting, granting one’s wish
To stand atop Man, like the stance of this grotesque, in vain, Hollowed is the game.
By name, Segato’s petrifaction claimed this man to supplement the active rapture
of this population pining for that Aurum base part: AU. Get Smart:

This grotesque is nothing royal, no Niobe nor Gargoyle, Just a ploy above the soil
Carved by Men akin to stone, who shaped his soulless skin to stretch over
The coldest of bones, the Kobold has now been molded, Frozen, in a state of shock,
The walking paradox ensnared in rock, set upon the eaves for eternity to feed
The innocent his fantasy to be on top, and so they see, so they believe, and
I can’t find a way to stop it so I Leave.