Magic, Pooetry

Channeling The Shitstorm

The stars have aligned, my bowels are primed.
Centuries have waited for this brown grime.

Within me brews an epic shitstorm.
A destructive doo is about to be born.

The weather outside is brooding and grim.
My porcelain cauldron is filled to the brim.

Below, waves crash against the jagged cliffs.
The time is right, I detect an arcane whiff.

This stench of southerly wind howls and swirls.
Inhaling this awful odour will make you hurl.

I ascend my wizard’s tower, right to the peak.
What brews within my gut is far from weak.

I pick up pace as there is no time to lose!
I must be ready for this magical ooze!

I reach the landing while thunder crashes around.
I utter the magic words to conjure the brown.

My staff ignites in a puff then a flame.
I lift my robes and my butthole takes aim.

A flash of lightning cracks the night sky in two.
This assoteric power charges my magical poo.

Another bolt zaps me right in the sphincter!
As a knee-jerk reaction, I let out a stinker!

I summon the sorcerers of my odious order.
Their presence is in the tower, bricks and mortar.

Every two hundred years the rectal ritual is the same.
And now it is my turn to carry the brown flame.

With a thunderous boom, my bowels have flared.
A mortal man would shit their pants scared.

My buttcheek hairs stand rigid and right on end.
Such a blasting of shite, your mind would bend!

The landing is speckled with a spray so heinous.
Blue cobblestones stained brown by my anus.

A final flash of lightning races across the sky.
This bolt of brown came from my brown eye!

Pure Pooetry

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