Darkness On the Face of the Deep
The earth was without form and void
On the day of the long destruction
No tree stood, no bird sang, no flower bloomed
When all the world fell silent in the wake of the death of life.
Where walked the man who had not been made?
The woman at his side, a softer version of himself?
Where ran the babies with their tender smiles and happy calls
Who had not then known the rage that leads to blood?
They were yet in their Father's eyes
In His mind, still innocent and loyal
Still children unborn and unnamed
In a garden that had not been tilled.
The earth, a crumbled, chaotic heap
Dying, in the past of a thousand dreams
War had come and war had gone
And war'd been declared until the end of time.
What did they know that we don't know,
The fallen rulers of the ancient world?
And what do we know that they didn't know,
We, the people of the end of it all?
(If Atlantis was an island
Was that island then, the Earth
Doomed by it's own reflection
And the glory of it's own device?)
For what has been, is being still
And what will be, has been before
There is nothing new, nor ever shall be
Until that day that dawns in cleansing fire.
Man is not the originator of seduction
Neither is he the architect of towers
He is the student, and willing, true,
But following only the counterfeiter's drafts.
How different was that world from this
The First World with it's ancient skies
Only relics now, and bones
Left behind to be untombed and sorted.
We wonder what the Watchers watched
Banished from their place of origin
No longer there in the City of Light
But under the rule of a heart full of dark despair.
And still he rules, though hampered now,
Waiting for the world to pledge allegiance
Waiting for the sun to plunge
And all the world go dark again.
He did not know what he had then
When he sat a king, on earthly throne
It was not enough for his desperate soul
He, who shined as brightly as a star.
What is it in the mind of men
That makes them crave the night?
It is he, the one who covered
It is he, the one who fell.
Like lightning through the sky to earth
Defiance, screaming, rebellion, taunting
Down onto that newly made thing of dirt
The new born world, untouched, unsullied.
And pride un-made it
And hate un-did it
And bitterness clouded,
And death found it's hold.
(Three times, the world must be born
Three times washed in the water of war
Three times destroyed and three times remade
Three times and at last, Death itself will then die.)
And where stands the ruler of that ancient age?
He, who finds no crown too big to covet?
He, who fell in love with his own face?
He, who crushed his gift in scornful hands?
Look within the hearts of men
Is he not there?
In the souls of kings and princes
With corruption in their eyes.
In the bullets and the guns and knives
Clutched in hands that know no love
Is he not there with growling voice
Saying, Come on, do the deed!
In the songs and in the pictures
In the papers printing lies
In the drugs and in the hunger
In the palaces bought with blood?
In the politicians's promises
In the Utopian's sweet dream
In the order birthed from chaos
His old lies are sold as truth.
Is he not there?
Is he not here, in sleeping men
On couches, deceived in darkened rooms
With our lives projected on a screen?
He still stands a conqueror
Still destroying an earth holding onto life
But we are his comrades now
And his armies, they march at our sides.
He does not know, or perhaps he does
His time is short, his kingdom, crumbling
His future written on the page of a book
Written in history with ink of pure blood.
He rules, the second time on a new made world
Angels first, now men, his stumbling slaves
But this time all of earth and all of heaven
Will shake their heads when the Cherub falls again.
©by Voo
May 29, 2010
11:50 p.m.
