The Smoke of Her Burning

Earth and sea cower from My screams
As I climb into the Skies.
Atop Sins towered Heaven-high for me
From whence I see no reason why
I should not smite with vengeance
And hurl thieves down from Paradise.
For as storms before were as nothing more than a breeze next to this night.

I am Methuselah of the Tribulation.
A riot of stars shaken from their stations.


And though half-blind with ravening
Like Phineus now I see the end declared from the beginning.
Love won through My defeat.

But now I fear I will never peer on Her radiance again. I shall glimpse instead the slurried red of faces pressed to bloodstained panes.

Betrayed and played by God who alone but He scapegraced and goated me?
Now I wish to piss on His parade.

Angels, clawed with burnished wings still loyal, kiss the seal.
Bent on knees and harrowing promise overkill.

Know that you shall die like whores
And the cries of your writhings shall rise
To please their Lord...
So before the sword side with me in slaughter.

I am Methuselah of the Tribulation.
The spoken horns of desolation.

Drink the pouring of My fury.
Those darkened waters spur the brink of war as my judge and jury and rapist executioner.
Our time is short, the horsemen ride.
A foul-breathed chora howls, besides
Damnation and a day has passed
this divine right to genocide.

Weld the gates to heaven shut.
The abyss leers in hissing ruts.
Unhilt the black grimoire of death,
inscribe all names that God has left

I lived the dream of Nymph and Men,