Grow My Hope

CHIEF end easily submerged, thrown to margin amidst
SWIRL, the bruising pace of sense’s inflow, reel of world and me.
SHUSH, frantic welter of accidents and trespass!
OUTDO them, Salvator Mundi, grow my hope.

Panic

LUCID,
MAGMA is not; a blazing red and orange shimmering force
SLIMEs its way towards us while someone screams on the
AUDIO.