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Brace yourself. The towers arch over our heads. |
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The signs inching down our necks carve the path of our existence. |
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No obelus could be printed in the temple walls. |
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Perfection to the micrometer and no pillar could ever fall. |
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Brace yourself. The sky is a dance of culling blades. |
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Encircle as knifehand prays to incise before ascending. |
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Surely the sea had been split |
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and from its middle ground rose a serpent from a stick. |
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We have regressed with every step we grow much closer |
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but now we tear the horns and beg the books will end the torture. |
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He who kneels before his Lord is saved. |
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The towers above and the infinite throne |
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have watched over millions of centuries to show |
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there is not in existence a word to describe the love the creator has left for mankind. |
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The structures convey the majestic framework of the consuming earth, oceans placed universe. |
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Constructed pieces scream the same verse in his name. |
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Kneel before your lord. Rest easy child. You are saved. |
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He who kneels before his lord is saved and will behold the architect. |
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Behold the architect. |
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Brace yourself for time is proportioned now to stop |
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dead and the planets will come to sudden halt. |
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Brace yourself. Mountains will turn over in guilt |
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the footwork will uproot itself exposing everything its built. |
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Brace yourself to feast eyes upon the most merciful most gracious light |
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that any man could ever have beheld within his sight. |
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Kneel before the throne. |
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Seconds will race encasing quickly clouding thoughts, |
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masking thy conviction tracing all to be untaught. |
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Pressed forehead to the floor, |
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flow tears for mindless solace upon the edge of crafting fate where it's met with oceanic abyss. |
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Deliver what is mine to take for I submit unfaltering faith. |
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He who kneels before his lord is saved. |
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Kneel before your lord. |
