Anguish of the Boars

No need to set the net.
For there are no more scores of boars who soar.
Soared upon the wind with predictions alongside pernicious intentions that inhabit a silhouette of exaggeration.

Sounds from a cloud that channeled the ultimatum of boars toward the spores of spilled silt.
There the boars soared and roared their anguish.
Anguish directed at the distinguished bores who wore their bones.

The distinguished bores who delighted in the exaggeration of boars.
Boars whose hollowed psalms exalted the distinguished bores.
Downed were the boars from within the snare of a barrel.
By Sparked fumes that crackled and spewed.

Clubbed and snubbed were the boars that were found upon scores of sores.
Clipped and snipped that laid bare the stark wood and familiar feel of sap ridden bark.
So fine were the slices and curves of serrated strokes.
That cured the distinguished bores who found delight in the anguish of the boars.