Before the empire’s rage,
before dark men, in shadows,
furious in the calm that reigned,
or will deservedly reign,
narrowed eyes, narrowed lips
and for what glory?
For what power and dominion?
For flamed swords? Taken from
the hands of fallen angels?
Before then was this laughter,
this celebration,
and perhaps love, not yet
corrupted by want.
Like an arrow to the crowd
unaware of what lay ahead
I say. I am the oracle
after all. Beware!
I saw in my not-dream
the running away,
Saint Entropy’s Scepter
beckoning the worms in corpses
to return to the mountain,
everywhere heat, hurricane
and walls of furious water.
Judgment it is not!
Just a making way.
And all you can do is to
wake it from its slumber.
jam36
