A Saint's fall from grace
Was written in subtle remission
Misgiving the unknown lengths
Within his impending perdition
He sits alone with Familiar near
Drawing permissive ethereal energy
Through a single ring finger
Seemingly from nowhere
Incoming ancient rites
Through unprecedented sight
Which is merely a foreplay
Unto the forays of his personal plight
For he lays with the knowledge
Of angels, deities, and Divine kings
Paralyzed within these confines
And unable to speak
The peril of an incorrigible feral beast Presently feeding on his precious sleep
A sanctified clandestine ritual
Opaque within the haze
For the utter ignorance of his current form Can not be fazed
All the while perched above him looming
The orders of the past
Which cast his imminent ruin
Strangulated by a single urgent thought
To which is owed his undoing
An existence to remain subservient
Fluid, and entirely alone
As was the expedient nature
Of his excommunication from the throne
And though he's been devoted
Thoughtful and reminiscent
There still lies a lingering shadow
Dissipating in the distance
The latter to which can not be replaced
With any amount of insistence
For ice burns the veins
That label him a Saint
There's no way to defame
Or ever replace an ordained vocation
Innate spun the tine of the fate's Creation
Needless abandon to pursue explanation When the weight of his burden
Entirely subdues resignation
It's simply the ripples of the current Resounding within his present station
Whispering into the deep heart of his fear
With it's morbid, amorphous face
Ever reminding him the story
Of his final fall from grace
May 5, 2020
May 5, 2020 at 7:54 AM UTC
A Saint's fall from grace
Was written in subtle remission
Misgiving the unknown lengths
Within his impending perdition
He sits alone with Familiar near
Drawing permissive ethereal energy
Through a single ring finger
Seemingly from nowhere
Incoming ancient rites
Through unprecedented sight
Which is merely a foreplay
Unto the forays of his personal plight
For he lays with the knowledge
Of angels, deities, and Divine kings
Paralyzed within these confines
And unable to speak
The peril of an incorrigible feral beast Presently feeding on his precious sleep
A sanctified clandestine ritual
Opaque within the haze
For the utter ignorance of his current form Can not be fazed
All the while perched above him looming
The orders of the past
Which cast his imminent ruin
Strangulated by a single urgent thought
To which is owed his undoing
An existence to remain subservient
Fluid, and entirely alone
As was the expedient nature
Of his excommunication from the throne
And though he's been devoted
Thoughtful and reminiscent
There still lies a lingering shadow
Dissipating in the distance
The latter to which can not be replaced
With any amount of insistence
For ice burns the veins
That label him a Saint
There's no way to defame
Or ever replace an ordained vocation
Innate spun the tine of the fate's Creation
Needless abandon to pursue explanation When the weight of his burden
Entirely subdues resignation
It's simply the ripples of the current Resounding within his present station
Whispering into the deep heart of his fear
With it's morbid, amorphous face
Ever reminding him the story
Of his final fall from grace
Written 05May2020 at 0439 after waking up from a nightmare at 0200 and immediately thrown into the second spiritual experience of my lifetime
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