THE MESSENGER

The veil of this world
is heavy,
clinging.
You know
we are not meant
to stay here.

The cleaving of duality
is perversion
in ritual
only the cloth of the animal
sustains
and the energy is worn
low in its frequency
plied with bread
circuses
and all else that is temporal
quenchless
and fades.

How
oh infallible Prometheus
doth thy fire burn
now?
To his own detriment.
To ours.
And we offer praise
and parables
in pagan tongue
at the spire of dilapidated palaces
to eagles eating livers.
To lies.

Why?

The soul will clothe itself
once it knows itself
in vestments
meant for Kings.
Die, die
worldly Ego
so the quintessence
may live again;
proof the payment of Sacrifice
is never an act executed
in vain.

And yet…
prehensile greed seeps in
well-received
heavy eyes dusted
with carnal sand…

Sleep.
Sleep.
With or without
your static input
this stomping ground goes on
forever.

Should one awaken
it would serve to remember
this world is temporal
quenchless
and fades.
Of all the things
she spoke to me
but one phrase
resonates:
We are not meant
to stay here.

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