Kilroy Was Here, in 289 Syllables

Haiku-squared, a style I developed. A theme is found throughout.

Let the levee break,
let the liquid flow freely
drowning out the towns.

The sorrow runs dry
because the people downstream
are little Dutch boys.

Plugging the holes with
fingertips when the cracks are
slowly widening.

And then one day, the
deluge occurs drowning them
all in one swift storke.

And the angel of
death cackles with flair, the bomb
went off in your face.

It could have, should have
been diffused by the right
minds at the right time.

Humans are devoid
of magical powers, they
cannot stop the flow.

Liquid seeks the low
point, the deepest depression,
despite the strongholds.

An avalance in
slow motion, a hurricane
at a snail's pace.

The speed matters not,
the universal solvent
screams "Kilroy Was Here!"

Really, Kilroy comes
calling regardless if his
presence is wanted.

If or not, Kilroy
the watery angel of
death cackles freely.

Freely and rightly,
stupidity garners no
sort of sympathy.

Stupidity gets
you sincerity in the
harshest, meanest form.

Nature is a harsh
teacher, she grants no reprieve,
no kind of mercy.

That inland ocean
is a demonic presence
in liquid disguise.

Demon and Kilroy
have shaken hands and the date
remains in hiding.