Elixir: December 22, 2012

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Elixir
December 22, 2012

Sapped from the roots of maples
It is syrup unkind
To the digestive tract,
Symbol of fertility
And escape,
Thick brown concoction
Thought to awaken the inner God,
But only known to awaken inner turmoil.

A survival kit left behind in a rain forest
Where tigers and lions dance to a serenade
Put on by an angel harmonizing high above the clouds,
Above the canopied conifers and cascaded mountain range
Far off in the distance, too irrelevant to the ingredients
Found in the Mayan’s poisonous cure
For a poisonous trend.

The end is coming! The end is coming!
Shouts the paper boy, ecstatic and mired
With the form of joy only found in
A young boy taking on his father in chess
About to shout Checkmate at the top of his lungs.

They say the elixir will caress your throat
And slither down into the depths
Of your lower intestine,
Where it will remain unsterile
For several hours,
Before leaking out of your system,
Taking with it
All that made you who you were,
But worse,
Who you weren’t.