A piece from the tail-end of September
Deicide
Your prehistoric poetry,
cave walls carved before Us,
long before We were written,
tells the story of You,
and I visit it with reverence,
as a moonlit pilgrim
approaching an ancient shrine
under cover of nighttime.
I seek solace, need communion,
and I find it...
but not without sacrifice,
not without trial,
for next to You, there is Her,
the One who came before -
She of other names,
faceless faces,
again enthroned,
here restored to grace,
before the schism,
before the magic died.
I watch you in your worship,
flagellant,
scourge swinging,
the drawing of blood a sacrament,
a torment of self both beautiful
and terrible to see.
You rise...and you fall...
then rise again
with ritual precision,
as She laughs, takes for granted,
possessing and possessed,
beatified,
treading heavy upon offerings,
loaves lost to dust,
loving cup forgotten, tipped empty
as the faithful return,
paying homage,
blood-borne apotheosis,
seeking again those gossamer wings,
that living, breathing myth.
Then you were faithless, a heathen,
broken of illusions,
those notions of divinity,
but you'd had your fill of falling,
so you jumped...
diving deep into Self
and vowing not to land.
Here's where I found you,
my ears pricked for faintest strains -
this weary apostate,
humming heretic songs
at the base of that empty shul,
fires down to embers,
pillars crumbling to the dirt
of a thousand remembered rites,
and I could not fail to hear.
My pilgrimage has ended,
come at last to this cave of antiquities,
bringing these alms,
this pure water and balm
that we may drink and heal as one.
As I read from these walls,
as my mind plays its tricks,
I, too, become heretic,
commit blasphemy upon blasphemy,
dark Nemesis waking to fly
down sacred halls,
past those empty thrones,
to find those ancient idols,
to see Her face with burning eyes,
and to spit at Her wretched feet.
I would splinter You, Babylon,
I would eradicate Your memory,
erase Your very name,
You unworthy image,
trickster goddess,
false one, deceiver,
pretender to the throne.
Your presence offends me,
cuts me to the core,
brings a rage of incarnation,
teeth and blade bared outward,
both blessed and profane,
'til I'd devour that other mother,
sucking dry Your blackened bones...
'til I'd gladly kill a god.
Your prehistoric poetry,
cave walls carved before Us,
long before We were written,
tells the story of You,
and I visit it with reverence,
as a moonlit pilgrim
approaching an ancient shrine
under cover of nighttime.
I seek solace, need communion,
and I find it...
but not without sacrifice,
not without trial,
for next to You, there is Her,
the One who came before -
She of other names,
faceless faces,
again enthroned,
here restored to grace,
before the schism,
before the magic died.
I watch you in your worship,
flagellant,
scourge swinging,
the drawing of blood a sacrament,
a torment of self both beautiful
and terrible to see.
You rise...and you fall...
then rise again
with ritual precision,
as She laughs, takes for granted,
possessing and possessed,
beatified,
treading heavy upon offerings,
loaves lost to dust,
loving cup forgotten, tipped empty
as the faithful return,
paying homage,
blood-borne apotheosis,
seeking again those gossamer wings,
that living, breathing myth.
Then you were faithless, a heathen,
broken of illusions,
those notions of divinity,
but you'd had your fill of falling,
so you jumped...
diving deep into Self
and vowing not to land.
Here's where I found you,
my ears pricked for faintest strains -
this weary apostate,
humming heretic songs
at the base of that empty shul,
fires down to embers,
pillars crumbling to the dirt
of a thousand remembered rites,
and I could not fail to hear.
My pilgrimage has ended,
come at last to this cave of antiquities,
bringing these alms,
this pure water and balm
that we may drink and heal as one.
As I read from these walls,
as my mind plays its tricks,
I, too, become heretic,
commit blasphemy upon blasphemy,
dark Nemesis waking to fly
down sacred halls,
past those empty thrones,
to find those ancient idols,
to see Her face with burning eyes,
and to spit at Her wretched feet.
I would splinter You, Babylon,
I would eradicate Your memory,
erase Your very name,
You unworthy image,
trickster goddess,
false one, deceiver,
pretender to the throne.
Your presence offends me,
cuts me to the core,
brings a rage of incarnation,
teeth and blade bared outward,
both blessed and profane,
'til I'd devour that other mother,
sucking dry Your blackened bones...
'til I'd gladly kill a god.