"I betrayed no one," I whisper quickly.
"Then why have," the sultry priest answers, "the family enforcers
scurried into the light? They are now visible
to the congregation."
I broke down the resolve of the deacon, the one who incessantly teases me
about my groin area birth marks. As I force his right
arm behind his back, he begins to plead motivations.
The post-deity idealism transforms the Church
and the official, evolved catechism.
The fight against the spiritual leadership elite is a pure
expression of their hidden lineage, the silence in thought
of the pathways to dominion. As one their wills unleash
the invention of the success building machinery.
The thought systems can, for the first time in Human
memory, process the fear of facing Truth, the awkward
step forward into nebulous unknown. To dispose
of control, the mischievous trait that tricks your ancestral mind
in to believing that miracles are illusion, that destinies are fate,
that belief is sorcery.
Holding hands, forming a large circle, the monks fête the deacons
with deep, harmonious voices. Words of love echo upward,
stretching to reach the topmost portions of the ancient stone parapets.
Deeds, described in heroic terms with secret and powerful words
of Demonic control.
those that are closest will
forevermore be the farthest
begone the night
that the crimson crystalline
form has spake to us before
the red list
the aqua-marine mysteries
names of the nemesis passed
to the spectral assassins
dispatched
who pays the energy of this night's
depletion dowry?
