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Untitled 1

Off idiot-savants do we feast; of malicious design, we do hunger.

A time of demagogues, do we pray for. A time of warring nations and emphatic cheers; of slaughter, brought slowly—denounced, then lauded. This is what we wish for, and nothing else. An arena, and nothing else.

 Scholars of false truths, and half-truths, do we bind ourselves to. Destruction, and decimation, we do await. A kind of ignorance condoned at the top, and denied only by the fools that actually believe it does not exist.

 Couched beneath our “love” do we find it: that potent, underlying wish—imbued through our souls, but stopping at the mouth. The line is carved in blood: we may think it, but not say it.

 Dare we utter it, and we will pay for it.”

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To Decay, in short—to dissipate. To Relinquish; to Dispossess—to Surrender, and re-create.
 We are Everchanging.
 Order only in perpetual disorder; where chaos dominates consistency, and He is shrouded; hidden beneath busy mouths; displaced by idle chatter. 
We are Everchanging

   Men of Scorn
      To Charity fly:
 For image dominates

 Trivial scramble; frantic
      Decay, and
 Smiles, laced with deceit,
      Cover grins gnarled,
 And tongues false.
 
 No Mothers. 
      Eyes red, and ivory
 Jaw apt to Snap,
      Spill Rumors,
 Collect others.
 
 And He, so shrouded,
      In Mystic disbelief,
 Triumphs.
 
 And He, so Scorned,
      Laughs with jubilance,
 In Immemorial glory,
      Forever Triumphs.
 
 Opposing Cackles
      Made Silent,
 As their greed constricts them,
      Power diminishes
 And He, beloved,
      Returns.
 

 For we are Everchanging.