Fury
Jul 8, 2016
1 min read
Shall I gather the liquid centuries into my body
and renounce these petty rules
as but the artificial stepping stones to grace
who is now less than genius
now less than
gods,
weather-beaten, lying on the skies,
grave or granted. Shall I
transcend these fools to riches
that do not wear,
for they are far above
the rains and winds, far
even above their gods
tried and untrue on thrones.
I am that daemonic light
painting the gates of glory
with blood furious and eternal,
the chaos of the ancient world
and more.
07/14/2015
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