Is it our Majesty
who rallies the willing
and ripens young hearts for war?

Is it our Excellency
which we devote our divine
in benevolence, awe and adore?

Is it our Champion
that cries veteran songs
to lift our esprit de corps?

Battles beheld in ancient thought
for land, for glory, for polytheistic God.  
hold not the pleasures of solitude forgot
and bestills hedonism with imposed Fraud.

Cast a drab shadow on my adjacent soul
And protecteth it from Helios above.
Neglected in shrouded shalom, contoured in kohl
You indefinite ruin, You darkened dove.
Obelisk towering as my shaded shelter
Untied to serve no master in dark.
Forged with fire, with brimstone in welter
Obliged to nothing, Ronin sharpened arc.
Ripped through tear of flesh and blood
Gave way my physical being of desire.
It punctured through altar, frustum of mud
Veiling ethereal magnificent, we all acquire.
Eastern deities and imperial gods,
Match not with what I awed.
Erased, my heart is not.

Brushed against my side
Her figure seen divine,
Our bodies intertwine
Exposure. Nowhere to hide.

Hands to run, endlessly
Over eternal curved features,
How did I captivate this creature
Just to lose her hopelessly?

(II)

Why does Thanatos sit amongst minor deities?
Surely a fitting position resides in the Major Arcana
surrounding the plains of human existence and its domain?

If our curiosity surpassed Death's grasp, could we elude it's supposed never-ending advancement? If we live without rapture, no interception of an ultimate being to determine our placement in far-away dimensions and our intentions are not constructed before the antenatal of our existence and answer the last question by breaking the 2nd law

There hangs a stark sky
Over the barren, wasted land.
A clan, full of promise and pride
Resides amongst a leader's command.

Brazen in Ice and Fire
In the freeze of Neptune.
Expansion, its only desire
And prophecies will illume.

A family of Flesh and Blood
The latter of in dire reception.
Through the coarse veins of crud
Lies a crude, vile sort of infection.

Stagnant of irrigation
Devoid of wildebeest hunt.
Resorted to methods of Thracians
And engulfed those without common front.

Every individual feather
glided against the shaded stone
carved like an alabaster altarpiece
a figure of romantic
a figure of unplayful prey.

Magnificence in flight
with onyx beads, golem countenance
hover above me with look of disdain
and pray upon my biding fears.

Against the blooded space
driving every force perpetually
your design for fighting
for surviving, for death.

Master of deadlight, night killer
show me your remorseless
in struggle with the mundane
to make me feel predatory.

Golden amongst mundane
each fleck of the earth below you
conscript me in all that is beautiful
and leave me frail and wanting
for your ethereal magnificence.

(I)
On a night out
A break in the clouds
inhibited senses aroused.

Emit from stars
the lines from Venus and Mars
across cities and farms.

Centuries, it has been told
an alignment without fold
for those in the cold.

Who wonder of it all
downtrodden and crawl
in trenches, duty without call.

To emulate an aeronaut
and rip the fabric (or other begot)
and discover unknown or ancient forgot.

A rational rejection
from traditional obsession
'for the emancipation' spoke the confession.

I stand here, drunk and dazed
thinking without care or malaise
as collective perfection, or how I portray.

I sway here, idly observing the array
of how little we've done til' death and dismay
with life's temporary solitude and all it's craze.

And I'm not okay.