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Rated: E · Poetry · Dark · #1701542
Written in a fusion of Terza Rima (in honor of Dante) and prose. A challenge to the LORD.
A child nestled in the garden of heathen
was cast astray in times of holy war.
Afloat in doubt, his sanctuary was Reason.

Consecrated in heresy and raised ashore
By the naiad Minthe, who spoke in delicate verse
and scathed the golden palace of ancient lore!

I am this child. I see the untruths of the lord in every hearse,
battlement, and graveyard edificed for Him! The ebbing seas
of the past are hemlock'd from tremors of piety's veil'd curse!

We pick up in later years, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita. The Rapture is swift approaching, like the arrow of a master archer from a dark, distant base. A sweet and foreign prince will articulate the sin of man. Thus begins the final purge, the Cataclysm.

My palms are outstretched in turbulent unity.
I am the architect in the sandstorm,
collecting psalms from the winds of destiny.

I am haven to the corpses of His scorn,
liberator of Judecca, and forged the brandish
to shear the threads that nature hath borne!

Gather here, ye wretches, rouse to god's brackish!
Revel in the human tragedy, recite the abysmal
scriptures of the Damned Bard and the fateful stricken!

May the skies rupture 'neath shrieks of the feral!
May our masquerade rewrite history!
May god wreak havoc on we, the immoral!
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