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Shrovetide is violated by heathens. |
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Nefarious splurges of sin. |
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Persuasion is trembling with fever |
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and became a mantra of occult tongues. |
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Mankind enclasped Doom. |
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He turned his back on God. |
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Virtue became ultra-decadence. |
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We are all libertines of the damned. |
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A Fidei Defensor arises, |
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flogged and whipped from head to foot. |
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The body cleansed by self-flagellation, |
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supressed the lust of flesh and blood. |
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Night after night grim voices shriek |
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in portentous horror dreams, |
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even though his room was locked, |
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but a Seraph comes unseen. |
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The bloodstained walls surround him, |
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icons made of Calvary wounds. |
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Dreams of riddance were shattered in sin, |
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ill-fated to avert doom. |
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Let me embrace my fate which was adrift and hung. |
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I will be again the apple of his eye. |
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Take me from among the doomed Laodiceans |
|
whose defamation thrilled the seething skies. |
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The man started to cry, hands held to the sky, |
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and expected to be purified in flames. |
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But the Angel smiled and took the Book |
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and commanded his holy mandate. |
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"The Lord foresees thy mother's advent |
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into the ranks of Paradise. |
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So spare him grief and deep distress |
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and take her worthless life. |
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But shall she be refined in Thine holy light? |
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Her spirit will shine will thousand suns. |
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Condone my doubt, but who am I? |
|
The haranguing priest of the newborn Herod king. |
|
The Fallen Seraph lowered his radiant mask |
|
and showed the man the countenance of the fallen Morningstar. |
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Night after night his skin was flogged. |
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Damn those recurrent dreams. |
|
Desperately flogging for relief |
|
while murmuring blasphemies. |
|
The bloodstained walls surround him, |
|
icons made of Calvary wounds. |
|
Dreams of riddance were shattered in sin, |
|
ill-fated to avert doom. |
|
Let me embrace my fate which was adrift and hung. |
|
I will be again the apple of his eye. |
|
Take me from among the doomed Laodiceans |
|
whose defamation thrilled the seething skies. |
|
"Christ, enthroned in highest heavens, |
|
hear me crying from the deep, |
|
for the fateful ones departed, |
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for the souls in a Laodicean sleep. |
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King of Glory, hear my voice. |
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Grant thy Faithful rest, I pray. |
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I have sinned, and may not bide it, |
|
if you mark my steps astray. |
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She is Thine, O take her quickly. |
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Thou art her hope, O raise her high. |
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Ever hoping, ever trusting, |
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unto Thee I strive and cry. |
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Let them through thy boundless mercy |
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from all evil be restored. |
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Hearken to the voices pleading |
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of Thy Church, O gracious Lord!" |
|
The Fallen Seraph lowered his radiant mask |
|
and showed the man the countenance of the fallen Morningstar. |
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The man seemed stricken by a thousand bludgeons. |
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Penetrating just-healed wounds as foreplay for the storm. |
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"So because thou art lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, |
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I will spew thee out of my mouth." |
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(Revelations 3:16) |
