The fattest fairytale ever fed
fixes a folly to foil ones head.
Flattering its host with features to attract,
it forges a fiction flavored like fact.
It’s firm to force that flesh will fade
and fibers internal are forever in grade.
Made in faith this figure does flower,
framed as the most famous, favorite, phantasmal power.
Our father who art not in heaven,
figure in yet another seven
days or more
to free us from each and every war
scored in your shifty label,
your fading film like fraying fable
feeding on man’s fear of death,
a fog, lacking face and breath.
Fumbling upon only what is said,
this fairytale fantasy foots to wed
man with prayer
at his bed.