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no. 3: Weary and Worn


by b.e. rise

I have cast aside
these so-called books
of Revelation,
left them burning
in the bushes
as I activate
the waking world
with the thunder
of my perfect mind.
I am the bringer
of my own Armageddon
and the wellspring
of my own salvation.
Everyday,
I am the Maker
and remain unmade.

I will not raise
a blackened hand
to society
nor will I harden my heart
to its woe.
Orphaned and weary,
I will love those
that despiseth me.

I will move evanescent
through the vapours of time,
revealing my name
to the wicked and the just
so all will return home.

I release
the coveted world
from it's slavish bondage
with secret musics
loaded with dream sparks
of divine Truth
to be born anew.

The shacks I have built
have all tumbled down,
disintegrated
into ash and dirt.

Those who claim
and defame
in my name
will be struck blind,
their charred, blackened souls
never again witness to Glory.
By unleashing
monstrous maledictions
upon the world,
they diminish
the haven
in their hearts.

For a day will come
that promises
to proclaim
my immortality.
Until that time,
my days are spent
in booths of agony
pondering my parallel
selves.



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