A violent wave of locusts surges toward the shores of my lowest lands
May the levies hold, and my harvest yield to no exception
Now is neither the time to panic,
Nor the time to act in any particular manner beholden my hopes, whatsoever-
Whether destruction looms amidst the dark clouds
Preparing their descent upon my person, I cannot know for certain
But mark my words,
These pests can’t extirpate what I’ve hidden from the sight of my own projections
And don’t you worry, my general acts of submersion will prove much louder
Than this billion-winged temptress,
Hell-bent on devouring the essential flesh of my formal expressions
By means of my ostensible submission to fate

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