I. conquest
morning sun pierces the blazing skies
over desecrated fields of war, where
demonic figures walk through silence,
unmoved by the corpse filled ditches,
festering as the maggots crawl through:
eyes which cannot see,
ears which cannot hear.
blanketed under a haze of hatred,
the once fruitful lands lay open
wounded, bleeding out against
the solitary horseman overlooking
all; all which lays wasted beneath:
his bow of pestilence,
his crown of victory.
a cloth-covered changeling remains,
untouched by the poisoned tips of war;
unnoticed, it lies, faintly squirming
upon the sacrificial pyres of rotting
remnants; a civilisation terminated
by the disease of man.
evening winds carry a song across the plain;
sombre and lonesome, it searches the unknown
realms where faceless figures emerge out
from amidst the moonlight, casting cloaked silhouettes
against fired filled horizons of forever burning flesh:
where man accepts his fate.
wraiths stalk the bleak wastelands clinging to souls
trapped in-between night and light and the half-light;
unable to achieve salvation, they remain witness to
the floods of ending time as it engulfs the land;
a solitary horseman remains upon his infected steed,
searching for the redeemer.
the lakes run red with the blood of hypocrisy,
the blood of those who contaminated the infrastructure;
those who naively spread ideals of destruction
through a society scarred by blackened memories;
the memories of past lives long since buried:
six feet deep but never forgotten,
six feet deep but never dead.
changeling of innocence, immortal to corruption,
oblivious to the disease fuelled minds
who seek to destroy the day; deny the rising
world of endless night, where hope lies
dissected and abandoned amidst:
the fires of eternal damnation,
the fires of inextinguishable hate.
hamlets lie illuminated under the moonlit
glow; emblazed by napalm smear
sticking to the burning flesh of fleeing
civilians, caught within the inevitable
demise occurring before their eyes:
praying to the one who does not answer.
the moths and flies flitter within incandescent
candlelight, tormented by the uncontrollable
desires drawing them towards annihilation;
gradually, the world succumbs, the minds ease
into disease and the world falls to its knees;
festering feverously, the pleas for absolution
fall to silent screams of the damned,
who await the vacuum of eternity.
then, from amongst the dishevelled bundle of cloth,
changeling fingers reach out, towards an overcast sky;
a solitary horseman remains overlooking the abyss,
searching for the redeemer amongst the damned:
the one to banish the darkness,
the one to restore the light:
the changeling of an uncharted otherworld,
the changeling of an immortal birth.
II. war
there was a time before the crimson haze descent;
a time of prosperity, when merchant dwellings
scattered across the lowland floodplains of life
thrived in abundance; a time outside of time,
isolated within a world of idealistic grandeur:
where the living felt no pain.
there was a time before the crimson haze descent;
the day when judgment reigned down
a wardriven horde, which plummeted through
the fields of greenery with fire-filled eyes;
searching for the redeemer, the one who could
restore the light.
the rifts opened when empires started to tear themselves apart;
a solitary horseman now remains, bludgeoning the faces of
decaying societies, crumbling beneath the immortal hooves
which shatter the skulls of those corrupted by false ideals;
the skulls of those who bowed down to false dictatorships,
those who would lead the world into oblivion.
inside the bundle of cloth, neatly tucked away,
the little changeling entity of rejuvenation
peers out of sanctuary and sees a world on fire;
a world lost within the mists of darkness,
searching for the redeemer, the one who could:
restore the light of the ruby sun,
restore the light of the ivory moon.
but day is cold and still where the wraiths linger,
senseless forms longing to be relieved; tethered,
they remain unable to be relieved of the existence
bestowed upon them by the bugle blast,
which surpassed all with one foul breath:
the breath which took all breath away.
light is now extinguished from the microscopic lepidopteron eyes,
uncontrollably spiralling into the infernos of insatiable desire;
wounded bodies lay outstretched, dissections of the dishevelled
hearts punctured by disease ridden arrowheads of malignance,
plaguing the once fruitful lands with seeds of decay:
seeds which brought the famine,
seeds which brought the death.
unperturbed, the changeling lies amidst the war
torn countryside awaiting the end of existence;
neatly tucked away, the horseman cannot see
that light remains within the heart of innocence
lying underneath the blazing skies of devastation:
where all hope seems lost,
where all hope seems found.
for the changeling does not burn, underneath the blazing sun;
for the changeling does not feel, the flames which flicker beneath;
for the changeling does not hear, the cries of the barren beings;
for the changeling does not see, a world through the eyes of reality.
for the changeling does not see,
the world through the eyes of reality.
III. famine
the changeling does not see the unjustifiable suffering;
the fainting forms of the hunger-stricken lingering beneath
the carnivorous creatures circling overhead; the angels of death
congregating upon the stench of decaying flesh, feeding upon
the false hope which resides within these empty stomachs:
dying slowly out on the plains,
dying slowly all on their own.
the thrones of kings have been overturned; swept aside
without a second thought, the castles in the air come
tumbling down, reduced to nothing more than burning
heaps upon the burning ground; grounds of uncertainty,
where they wander with uncertain eyes, uncertain minds:
lost to the world and all they knew,
lost to the world, lost to themselves.
rains of acid pour down from the emptiness above,
dissolving the bones and washing away the blood
encompassing all that ever was, all that ever will be
sinking into the depths of uncharted waters; uncharted
territory, where spectres stalk the stained mists of decrepitude:
without feeling,
without heart,
without mind.
this is the borderline, the edge of civilisation;
this is where the withered walk towards what
cannot be fathomed by those who have not seen;
that hell now walks upon the once mortal world.
IV. death
silence falls over the solitary horseman,
standing on the edge of time and space,
waiting for the darkness to engulf the light;
waiting for the gates of hades to open themselves
to a world still pleading for absolution:
but absolution will never come.
a scythe sweeps over the burning remnants,
rotting underneath the blood-stained skies;
where circle the vultures of opportunity,
watching the scythe surpassing all:
striking down the sinner and the saint,
striking down the core of humanity;
the changeling witnesses the bright lights glowing
upon the far horizon, where silhouettes of humanity
still stand out, boldly defying the imminent end;
the changeling witnesses the fires engulfing all,
into a place far beyond, the afflictions of mortality:
a place where life is death,
a place where death is life.
the changeling witnesses the solitary horseman
standing aside, watching the day give way to night;
the solitary horseman witnesses the changeling
laying aside, watching the night give way to day;
in twisted harmony, life and death have collided,
underneath these blood-stained skies at the end of time:
where life is death,
where death is life.
V. the end
in the beginning, god created the heaven and the earth:
and the earth was without form and void,
and darkness was upon the face of the deep,
and the spirit of god moved upon the face of the water.
and god said, let us make man in our image, after our likeness;
and let him have dominion over the fish of the sea,
and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle on the plain;
and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing.
but in the end, life will become death, and death will become life:
but be thou faithful unto death,
and the changeling will give thee a crown of life.