Eagle and Snake

Sapping my strength, it

Sucks the soul from me. I can’t

Pin it down, but I

Am made lesser, I

Have my peace stolen. Trembling,

I ask the ether

What it wants from me.

Why I must endure this loss.

Forty-one, vampire.

Those who wait upon

The Lord will renew their strength.

Rise like an eagle.

No Martyr

Once did a young man

Declare that the tragedy

Of the world was

Wrong, and that he would

Fix it. Did he believe in

Himself? Sometimes. But

Not often. He had

Imbibed and lived a creed in

Which to be crushed by

The machine was a

Victory, representing

The end to the war.

Eventually he

Became a doctor and found

Himself a clockwork.

Would he spend his life

And his substance to turn back

The hands for one more

Moment? He wasn’t

That good, to die in service

Of a lost cause. He

Was selfish enough

To want a purpose for his

Life and work, to write

His name in the stars,

To stop the clock forever.

No martyr would he

Be. He would not burn

On another’s pyre. He

Would steal the sun from

The sky and hide it

In his pocket, to peep at

When he was idle.

Twenty Eight

Inputted my first

Name to Chaldean numbers,

Got twenty eight. Was

Told this meant I was

Unlucky, unwanted. I

Start strong, then hit so

Many roadblocks, it

All dries up; I have to start

Again. Losses are

Inexorable.

Well, fuck. That’s my life to a

Tee when I’m on a

Depression jag. But,

Here’s why that’s bullshit. Netzach

Is twenty eight, is

Victory, power.

It’s four seven times, it’s Gad,

Warrior tribe, the

Strongest brother of

Israel, and there’s four of

Him. G-d named as He

Is seen in Venus,

Adonai ha-Aretz, I

Am beloved of

The Lord, times four. With

These prophecies in conflict,

I derive union:

Strength and power must

Not grow complacent, but must

Practice the strictest

Discipline. For a

Kingdom neglected goes to

Ruin, is torn by

War without end. The

Beloved provokes envy,

Leads to malice, so

Must my splendor be

Veiled, disclosed with time and care;

I am a pearl,

Not to be cast to

Swine. Material things I

Will lose; gold remains.

Contendings with the Pretender

The Lord has given

Me this land to possess, you

Scrawny rooster, you

Have squandered your great

Talents, have let your moment

Pass; your throne is lies.

Your fealty to

Faker cannot save you. Yield

Your territories.

They belong to me.

My mighty men have taken

Your citadel, and

Your guards are now dead.

You are sick, tired; I am

Sick of you. We now

Purify our land,

You shall be our sacrifice.

But I am gentle,

Rooster; permit I

Strangle you. Otherwise, must

You suffer the sword.

The blade will rend your

Most delicate places, and

Your agony will

Fill your palace as

Once your riches did. Choose now,

Your only mercy.

Dueling the Dweller

Chronozon’s sigil

Blazes across my vision,

Falling angel is

Divebombing toward

Me. I don’t back down, fuck you,

Dweller at the gate,

I am anointed

Of the Lord, priest of the truth,

I incarnate my

Highest self, arms

And shoulders of oak, my will

Is iron, you can

Never defeat me.

Flash all the middle fingers

And pentagrams you

Want, I know your true

Name and I’ve seen your real face.

Like dust in the wind.

Unreal Torments

You needn’t trifle

With that which means nothing. You

Thought necessary

To vent your spleen as

If it meant anything but

You and I know the

Truth. They can’t hurt you.

You only hurt yourself, now

And again, again.

You must realize that

It’s all for naught, because they

Are merely shades, the

Shadows in your mind.

Attend to me, and I will

Be reality.