Poetry

1. WITHOUT WAITING
Without waiting for unflinching strength to peerlessly enshroud my arms; if I plunged
head-on into the ferociously beheading battlefield; then the aftermath of it would be;
ignominiously crippling defeat; instead,
Without waiting for priceless empathy to selflessly encircle the periphery of my eyes;
if I galloped on an inexhaustible mission to embrace every echelon of brutally
tyrannized humanity; then the aftermath of it would be; hapless disintegration into
gruesomely cruel nothingness; instead,
Without waiting for fructifying thoughts to brilliantly spawn in my brain; if I
commenced to write the most literary Herculean epic of my time; then the aftermath
of it would be; baseless balderdash raunchily perspiring from everywhere; instead,
Without waiting for triumphant melody to fantastically brew up my throat; if I started
to perpetuate every cranny of the fathomless Universe with a celestially enchanting
song; then the aftermath of it would be; a corpse of indescribably cacophonic
ghoulishness; instead,
Without waiting for effulgent smiles to uninhibitedly the contours of my lips; if I
chivalrously tried to disseminate the essence of true conviviality amidst every
disparagingly beleaguered organism on this planet; then the aftermath of it would be;
a cloudburst of tears erupting at every step that I took; instead,
Without waiting for indispensable hunger to reverberate from the hollow of my
stomach; if I devoured every sumptuously succulent delicacy on this boundless earth;
then the aftermath of it would be; a vomit with such ghastly rebuke which would
horridly desecrate the purest of soils; instead,
Without waiting for sleep to wholesomely relinquish my eyes; if I commenced to
segregate the quintessential needle from the fecklessly looming haystack; then the
aftermath of it would be; every trace of holistic sanctity metamorphosing into
tawdrily suffocating deliriousness; instead,
Without waiting for blood to ecstatically rush through my veins; if I drifted into the
valley of unsurpassably timeless adventure; then the aftermath of it would be;
deterioration into a gutter of inanely fatigued meaninglessness; instead,
Without waiting for blazing truth to unrestrictedly permeate my conscience; if I
indefatigably proceeded to teach the chapters of symbiotic humanity; then the
aftermath of it would be; being brutally charred to the dungeons of hell; instead,

2. Without waiting for jubilant virility to consummately bless my persona; if I attempted
to procreate the countless of own living kind; then the aftermath of it would be;
delinquently choking stagnation forever and ever and ever; instead,
Without waiting for the waves of perennial contentment to endow my soul; if I tried
to miraculously mitigate the suffering of every wounded soldier on this globe; then
the aftermath of it would be; every bit of benign goodness transforming into
sadistically cannibalistic blood; instead,
Without waiting for passion to tower high and handsome into my fingers; if I tried to
blissfully sketch every inch of the Lord’s panoramically boundless creation; then the
aftermath of it would be; egregiously amorphous skeletons wailing till times
immemorial; instead,
Without waiting for a surreal yawn to wonderfully besiege my mouth; if I tried to
timelessly snore under my silken nocturnal quilt; then the aftermath of it would be; a
night of wretchedly maniacal and diabolical desperation; instead,
Without waiting for the rhythm of marvelous pragmatism to wholesomely drape my
senses; if I started to solve the inexplicably carcinogenic riddles of every dwelling in
acrimonious despair; then the aftermath of it would be; vanishing like a frigid
whisker even before uttering a singleton word; instead,
Without waiting for naturally inevitable pressure pounding on my bowels; if I tried to
expurgate in such a way that I would never ever have to go to the lavatory for a
lifetime; then the aftermath of it would be; the mortuary of insanity galore dissolving
me into cadaverous emptiness; instead,
Without waiting for hair to extrude from my scalp and skin; if I valiantly subjected
myself to the winds of the chilliest of winter; then the aftermath of it would be;
forlornly fretting in uncontrollably emaciating pneumonia for the remainder of my
life; instead,
Without waiting for inferno’s of seductively untamed passion to royally enslave my
silhouette; if I leapt out to ignite desire into every disconsolately decrepit organism on
unceasing earth; then the aftermath of it would be; jailhouses of sleazy infertility
reigning mockingly supreme; instead,
Without waiting for my lungs to harmoniously sing for quintessential oxygen; if I
tried to inhale every bit of synergistically emollient air on the trajectory of this
limitless Universe; then the aftermath of it would be; a ludicrously inflated balloon
ready to burst into an infinite bits of infinitesimal stupidity; instead,

3. And without waiting for my heart to compassionately throb within my chest; if I tried
to bond every of its beat with the chapters of Immortally insuperable love in this
entire world; then the aftermath of it would be; vindictively vituperative
and unbearable betrayal; instead.