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Poem
The taste of bile treads my thoughts,
Unwillingly my feet must now follow,
Source of inspiration guide,
Restore the signal fires now long lost,
Set beyond the temporal,
A path impassable by mortals,
The stairs of separation, 
I must recount lest others falter,
Every sin a means, an end,
To each soul lead only by itself,
Counterfeiting perfection,
The usurpers, scoffers are now debased,

Anger above unrestrained,
Bereft of a target consumes self,
The famed fountains of knowledge,
Once fresh, soon descend to stagnant seas,
But only the sealed can see, 
That for which they wait so patiently,
Bodies removed of the grave,
At attention stand upon their stones,
There encrypted, engraved,
Each history of self-enslavement,
Inheriting this decay,
A way in fissures fraught with danger,

Through the ravenous creatures,
Enthralled by the gravity of dust,
The ground to lie forever,
Fallow for jubilees once ignored,
Rising embers, never souls,
Seeking moisture, extinguishing both,
Lemmings to the precipice,
So did they rush only to accuse,
Perjuring with every word,
As fleeing reptiles forsake their tales,
Our course like a viper’s coils,
Round the kingdoms of brewing venom,

To behold the sepulcher,
We would visit the ten forsaken,
Follow the funeral march,
To find the center of the circle,
Like a town built on water, 
Pitched footings yet ever eroding,
Their footsteps marking cadence,
Unending chimes of doom impending,
Self and place once separate,
Consummate here in actions devoid,
Those who were lowered by pride, 
Moldering as risen ash returned,

Searching for what they know not,
To be entangled by serpents’ lies,
Fevered visions of the damned,
Lusting for the flesh of the living,
Soon to join the first fallen,
Trapped by their own perceived gravity,
The mass of death attracting,
The corruption of its own kindred,
Swaying the freedom of wills,
Tempting the words of the messenger,
We follow the Fisherman,
Whose breach left Hell lurching in its wake,

From the cavernous shadows,
We now turned toward the beckoning light,
Having fathomed the darkness,
To find its depth wanton and wanting,
Grieved, we left them to the night,
Dead ears hear neither thief, gate, nor keys,
Empty perceptions fall short,
He that protects, Justice is His name
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