Grandson’s Hymn of the Hierophantic Hermit

Oh my grandson, beware the verdant winged lion eating the sun 

Knock out it’s overgrown teeth and speed through this long run

Then seek the hierophantic hermits’ hut who pray to grand jotünn

To crack their thick skulls from inside the pixies’ remnant bastion 

Through each trial chamber they hoist mast, loot, and shotgun 

To find seat at a narcissistic feast of the royal hart’s grand passion

So don’t mollycoddle and lovebomb the pixies, my grandson

For the clowned jester has turned it into a metaphysical ration

Oh my grandson, ask the serpent as if it speaks protons undone 

And sometimes he creates kool-aid from a cigarette and milk run   

Then pays the cashier in blackened pale pearls turned ashen 

Only to pixelate water into beer through unripe oversaturation

© Niklen 7/7/26