The Tide, Part VIII

Ashore and under shadows of
swarming angels’ ecstatic music-
making we hierophants fled like
children from our noonday naps into
an aether of imagined architectural
wonders—we broke bonds, tore
temples to the alien god down,
deconstructed stones some thirty feet
high erected on hills where none
should worship—our god was the
god of the valley, rich in dream-slick
darkening umbras, stoneless—ours
was the mountain man-god Christ
eternal, and in his mighty name we
slew what god-demons, dogs, Dagons,
dragons, imps and mute venomous
coiled snake things we could in such
godly, blood-crazed and blindingly
furious fervour as we were incensed
by, and we as though truly possessed,
drinking cups of gruesome glue-like
plasmic ghoul blood to spite our
dying enemies, had no breath to
scream, though scream we would
have for all our insane rage—we
expelled an eternity of hate for all
Jehovah’s enemies, tearing our own
hair out at our yet supernatural
swiftness, our immeasurable yet
imperfect agility with sword, spear,
reaper’s sharpened sickle which
broad-swinging we brought down
upon these sickly, soul-destroying
creatures like astral scorpions, like
bloated elephant’s corpses, like
tangled tailor’s threads though
floating, and in an indescribable
climax of age-long, sad and spiritual
thirst being quenched we lay, each
of us entering into the other and
returning as one figure, one love,
one timeless song of praise to Christ,
Jesus of Nazareth, ruler, unquestionable
priest and master and king.

Thanks for checking out my poem.

Did I tell you I wrote a novel? You can also donate some of your hard-earned dollars down below—that’s money to me, for free!

 

Gabriel Muoio

$1.00

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