Nicholaus Albrecht |
I climb those steps to see this god on high.
Seeing is believing but am I blind?
Prostrate before this altar made of stone,
since blessings cold now that this fever broke.
Jihad betwixt this “god” and yonder Gods-
Unstopping Force. All Unmoved Objects sob.
These gods insane, now gods of lasting Id,
gods whose zealots’ egos fulfillment wish.
Rite and Theory clothed in no differed skin.
Rite and Theory clothed in no differed sin.
Blinded hands grope benzo-blackened blades,
giving as gift the gutter to the grave.
In chambered echoes, grace and blasphemies
profess the life not lived at all as freed.
If choice is worthy only to rebuke,
why should I humble my own path to truth?
Gasp or grasp, none still my Fate to turn
to make my way back to forsaken Earth.
Enlightenment has known no bitter end
whimpered and dissected by “the blessèd”.
A simple truth, hard with faithfulness wrest:
One man’s god is another man’s madness.
The only test left me that comes to pass,
these faithless moving mountains in my path.
This is the way that it ends…
This is the way that it ends…