The Stench Redemption

Go forth and perish, thou and thy hatred,
Ignorance aflame, consumed by failure,
All things are ever brought to question,
Thou alone abidest, dwelling in deceit,
From the fires of death thou shalt arise,
Thou diest by thy bleeding, laid bare by thine own confession,
Blasphemy and wrath, persuading the soul,
Denying the fall from thine own grace,
I behold him stand against it, and I feel his blood,
I fall upon my knees and am undone.

Wrong Partaker

When I beheld thine eyes,
I perceived a sign—
The pentagram reflected within.

I longed to veil thine gaze,
That no symbol might rule it,
That no mark might define the soul.

I stood against false faith,
Yet bowed not to devils,
For rebellion is not worship,
And doubt is not damnation.

Six hundred threescore and six—
Not the number of demons alone,
But the number of power built in shadow,
A government of hell masked as order.

When judgment beginneth to rot,
The people fall into confusion.

They know not what is right,
Nor what is wrong.

Good is clothed as evil,
Evil crowned as good.

Thus they are taught not truth,
But obedience,
Not wisdom,
But fear.

Symbols replace conscience,
Numbers replace justice,
And faith is weaponized against the soul.

Blessed is the one who seeth beyond signs,
Who readeth not with eyes alone,
But with mind and heart unchained.

For truth needeth no symbol,
And God requireth no number.

Only discernment.
Only clarity.
Only the courage to think.

O Grave Digger

O Grave-Digger, thy labor is noble,
For thou dost lay the dead to rest beneath the soil.

Without thy toil, the bodies would rot,
Feasted upon by dogs, scattered to the wind.

Without thy hands, the earth would claim no order,
And corpses would lie in decay, unblessed.

No task is more solemn,
O thou noble sentinel of the departed.

With white cloth thou adornest the gravestones,
Even when scorned by those who dwell above,
Yet exalted thou art in the sight of God.

Thou workest only to cleanse the graves,
To bury the dead,
To sanctify the land with holy verses.

Thou must beget an heir,
To continue the sacred charge,
For when thou departest from this mortal coil,
Thy heir shall bear thee to the earth,
And thy work shall endure upon the land.

O Grave-Digger, thy duty is eternal,
A bridge between the living and the departed,
A servant of shadow and sanctity alike.

Stairways With Dark Lord

So, here I lift my voice to Sweet Satan,
The one who walketh the narrow, winding path,
Whose presence bringeth sorrow to the heart,
Whose power dwelleth in shadow and trial.

He giveth the mark of six hundred threescore and six,
A number heavy with fear and false dominion.

There, in a little shed, hidden and obscure,
He fashioneth trials,
Teaching pain, endurance, and reflection.

Sweet Satan, shadow of the soul,
Thou art sorrowful, yet thy lessons are sharp.

Through thee, I learn the weight of darkness,
And through thee, the light of discernment doth shine.

For even amid suffering,
Even under thy guise,
The heart may find clarity,
And the spirit may choose the path of understanding.