Sonorous Poetry

Blasphemy

Testimonies wail across the sky of the sempiternal night and allow for none but one to cross the Nile of the light.

He is a man of pain and sorrow and a beast of darkest shadows, a wraith if any were, and a being made so shallow.

To touch him, is to be the cold, to see him, to be blind, to hear him is to hear what follow, listen to his plight:

He screams upon the cobbles, and his cries resound upon the night, he preaches to his coffin-mates, the bodies that surround him, and try to his chill fight.

He speaks of truths and wisdom, of futures filled with woe, and none would to him listen, they still have their kindle: hope.

He lights it, burns it, and makes them listen then, and raises up an army, of his own enlightened kin.

He has made it through you see, he lies before a tree, six foot deep beneath the ground, finally he's free.

He did his job, he crossed the sea, of hope and faith and trust, and did to many what was done to him, long before his life was shattered dust.

He stole their hearts, their love, their light, and swallowed every ray, he has finally had his fill, the world has finally payed.

 

 



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