Jack, lest thou shall fail,
Then live on my horizon.
Though i hast lost the battle,
When a spear pierced my lively veins,
And an airful of laughter entered the silent chasm of my ear.
A rider be thou, a knight.
And a ghost awaits, darker than dead of the night.
A reciprocal he is, of you, my magnificent saviour.
A ghost with flesh & bones, still darker than dead of the night.
Faith, no fear shall pump thine blood,
Ghast ain’t be the master now,
Eerie ain’t be air.
Jack, all believe, they be the prophecy.
Close thine ears, as there be qualms,
Needless though, needful for oblivions.
See no evil, but you hath kill them.
A lovely paradox.
Devil’s proclivity, he advocates, the madman.
On satan’s altar, he chants;
“god is dead.....god is dead.....
god is dead.......”
My sister, he offered, a virgin,
And drank her blood.
Blew a carving of her thigh bone,
A trumpet, pale white.
Quenchless revenge; my unsalvated soul.
Jack, my prophet’s avatar,
Faith, no fear shall pump thine blood.
Grant me salvation;
With the waves of thine laughter,
My transparency touches.
And i quench my revenge,
When the ghost leaves his flesh and bones.
And God’s laughter enters the silent chasm of his ear.