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.
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