Forgotten Savior

by Chris Evans

The secret lay nestled deep within the worlds of change.
A truthful knowledge of pure innocence cannot lie to a mind of tainted piety.
So the belief was resounding in my very nature, I was unshaken in my sight.
In above worlds of unknown cataclysms of religion and society,
In the blackness as deep as the death of night,
And the infinite proportions of length and width of interstellar range.
A familiar globe of turmoil lay drowned in the deafness of a darkened nation.
Survival was sustained, on a thin wire that sliced into the grips of the hung,
The stink of a terminally sentenced habitat gave life a stagnant flavor.
The temple of the body was poisoned from heart, to mind, to lung,
Fancy I, the answer. Did I think myself the savior?
Rounded, weathered. It was a sphere on a spiral of downward inclination.
The plague that rested on our souls, was the thick sauce of eternal night.
Beams of rejoicing light were banished from the pale faces of taunt skin,
And caverns of orbs clouded with the numbed mist of remember joy.
Of days where we danced, the winds as fairy linen.
The haunts of healthy limbs, a fresh skin of pleasured nerves, and the youth of a boy.
The past made present was a horrible organ to remove, and it drove home the nature of our plight.
The mighty expanse of gray was a panner's fruitless search for a hint of wealth.

Fantasies are golden rays of natural illumination. I would, those fantasies fill my sorry eyes.
A shimmer in that stronghold of despair would be valued more than a lottery of riches.

My body broke that morn the flame forgot to rise.
A trade, for a glimpse where light is a wasted thing, sell me as one of the devil's bitches.
A prescription for that glorious substance would be the treatment to restore my health.

Like a nested falcon perched on high, it hung insubstantial in the darkened atmosphere.

I sought it out through contemplation, not easy thoughts for a troubled intelligence.

My word must be preached to the multitudes, but I was not one for that task.
A godly virgin, bathed in the glory of her convictions, made divine by holy allegiance,

Not a tainted scoundrel, bathed in the sticky liquor of a cask.
However my conclusion was certain, there was no confoundment, the chosen path was clear.
To fail in my proceedings would be to drive home the sweet dagger of ending.
It was this gruesome thought alone that held me to my quaking convictions.
My gravestone key, by its own design was the one that entered solid into the brass lock.
The owl's flight must have crossed my path, for as I stepped through, I thought of horrid fictions,
Of ravens peeling skin from my bloody arms, and vermin at my eyes, and crabs at my cock.
I have no doubt it was the Devil, his claws of visions, me from my perch rending.

I was tempted, the confession is mine. And if not for the holy sending of flesh, I would have turned.
But the Lord's word made woman is a strong bargain in its most attractive form.
Dainty paws of sunlight dappled skin glided along the pathways, and I was taken.

From God's own bosom I am sure her figure transformed.
I touched heaven when her slim digits touched my unworthy chest, and my heart was awakened.
An answer had arrived, at opportune moments, the fire of the cause once again burned.

The weave of my discernment was nothing easy to fathom.
But these were hardened minds of inner light, having none in outer ways.
The fury of a furious collective had died, but the intelligence was a razor.
Through the goddesses words, and mine we led them, the rats through the maze.
The hound had been unleashed, we awaited report from the appraisers.
Always, in the hordes we preached, lurked a deathly pale phantom.
Fanged incisors through a hyena's sneer, and sockets of night mocked failure.
Tattered remains of remembered tailors suited the hunched form's bend.
A limping omen through the gathered audience, daring my courage to survive.
Wavering winds filled sails of uncertainty, as the course ran to its end.
That reddish trickster of fate, shutting mind's eye from the answer I had contrived.

But the sparkles of riches were nothing to the glory beyond, only useless thaler.
As the messiah himself witnessed a gruesome temptation,
I found myself sharing the fates of similar construction.
I was shaken by the visions of broken death, the screams of unnatural anguish.
We were lead by our blind navigator who had steered toward the void of destruction.

The brink of a cliff, stood I. And only one love pulled me from the sin of languish.

Shadows quake at the brilliance of a steady light, dispelling them to damnation.

I have tasted the everlasting joy of a thousand kingdoms fallen at my wretched feet,

For a night, broiled romance of rose petals dewed in the morning's moist insight.

Of kindred souls, lost for millenium then joined in a passionate drama of the highest magic.
A songbird feels less love for his song than I felt for my believer, and I clutched her soul tight.
A melody of rapturous pleasure is a thing I will hear only once in my life, a life most tragic.
A flower must wither, the hollow shell of a beauty before it dies. Betrayed by a hideous deceit.
Wither away, my hopes, my dreams. Wither away my life before you wither her petals.

Selfless sacrifice is not a worthy trade on the great, bloody fields of death.
A faceless figure, hidden by unholy smoke. If only I had smelt that evil cloud.
Ironic the spark of the blade was the beauty of the life it took in a single breath.

The rain swept fields bowed in submission to the force of nature, as I stared at her mound,
A hill of coal black dirt, on a windy morn. The breeze pricked the lungs like stinging nettles.
Despite the strength of the oceans waves before the soul of imperfection.
Past all human reserve and emotion.
I was immortal in that nightmarish gale of doubt and betrayal.
Then, as the gathering of titan skies in preparation for the final commotion,
The opposition parted, as the red seas of blood in glorious portrayal.
The friendly cogs of progress turned now the opposite direction.
Babel was a feat similar to the creation of these vessels of awesome destiny.
The planet was scavenged for the means, our hearts and bodies scavenged for the life.

Living entities of godly consciousness were designed with the lifeblood of a nation.

Perfect were the temples we constructed from shambles of a planet burning in strife.

The giants of ore towered like cloudy brothers in a height of heavenly elevation.

The fervor of harmonious tools in their glorious performance was an unparalleled symphony.
The first golden lance of skyward fire was a hint at the brilliance that lay beyond.

Above the cover of suffocating dust, I envisioned a twirling system of mathematical display,
Pinpricked blades of repeating flames, a fire of cold suction, of no dimension or mass.
A beauty so raw and simplistic, it speaks a message complex human words cannot convey.

I cried a tear of utter vanity as the metallic prick disappear into the mirror of gray glass.
A land bound eagle, seeing brothers take to flight, a envious ripple of a cruel awakening dawned.
The ark of ideas filled like a flooded place of low elevation.
An epoch of bloodlines rushed in; a sea of anxious refugees.
I withered with the pulse of a crust. The gentle, quiet all was forgotten in the mob.
And I, the answer with it. My dim from, huddled in the massive shadow's lee.
Slits of tired, gritty orbs despaired as the final memory boarded. A faceless, tattered blob,
Of human emotion, raw at the edges of an unfinished work of perfect creation.
To be completely unsheltered from the gaping maw of the living world tree.
To be forcibly immersed in a lake of channeled, godly lightning.
I was a droplet of moisture, vaporized by a charge of pure creation.
To be joined with a body of infinite proportions is frightening.
I was. To be released on the cosmos, through painful recitation.
To be recreated through death is a horrible, riddled, nightmare of awesome agony.

I was.

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