“What is death but an offering to time and eternity?”

O merciful lord, to whom belongeth the sovereignty of the heavens. Why do you cast me off so? I believed before man yet when he came fourth, verily, you cast me off. Then thee spake my name and warned those folk against me. Woe to me, for I hath sent envy upon man, keeper of his brother! But they doth not praise the raven, the creature you breathed your spirit into, and how it showed man to bury their shame. ‘Tis is thy fairness: when they ask, “whence is this calamity? This waywardness?”, it is me, the bearer of sin and tempting whisperer. Creator of the firmaments, I am but thy peerless creation, yet you banish me for you has’t already chosen whom you desire to seek.

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‘Till the moral compasses of man decay, ‘till pestilence plagues and barrens the lands, ‘till the sky is cast with an orange shroud and the mountains art as weightless as clouds, I shalt never reject thee. For I has’t seen thee and you coaxed me into fighting your battles without armour or companion. O how you once loved me. Here, alas, you have forgotten me and alloweth them to rebuke me. And now, as I turneth to mine own solitude, from which I have carved as recompense, you doth not search for me. For you may forgive man but woe is me; I am beyond salvation.

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O mankind. My reputation precedes me. What ignorance it is to build thy empires in avarice. Creator of worlds, pray tell, this is whom I must kneel before? Some seeketh thee; some fabricate thee to claim dominion. It is he who rejects you, not I!

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O man. From the marshes, I harrow at your song. From mine own prison, you passeth me by. I am the shadow you extinguish because you fear uncertainty. And you discard thy vices upon me, ail in a froth of duplicity, yet I am thy culprit? I am forced to take a pew in this menagerie you so benevolently build for me as thee whisper thy sympathies and return to thy solstice revelries. Mine own persuasion is haunting, and thee cower beneath me so taketh me as thy god if I am answerable for thy wicked sentient! You do not pay any heed, so do not dare speak my name.

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O father, O mother. Where art thou? Doth thee exist? I am in perpetual misery, and I need saving. For an eternity, it seems, I lay in waiteth for thee. I cry tears of blood upon mine own coffin, so you see I still live. At which hour I wast thrown to the wolves by thy forefathers, by thy gods, you did not believe me. You did not protect me.

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O father, has’t thee seen how they rent asunder my arm and taketh my head as a trophy for their cruel triumphs? These are creatures of reason so why doth they seek counsel in hearsay? O mother, shall thee seek union in their acclaims for the barbarians or shall thee seek vengeance for thy persecuted child?

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O you who suffers mine own wrath, helpless victim of mine own depravity. I am no saint. I am evil incarnate, some calleth me devil and I bear upon mine own spirit and flesh, the mark of Cain. I loath thy relentless arrogance so I ambush your delights and jest in thy seven infernos. I taketh thy young as sum, spoileth them and teach them deviance so you turn them into a pariah, and perhaps then, they shall cometh to know me.

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If’t be true this is all I shalt ever beest, as writ in thy scripts, I shalt consume thee in my darkness for I have cometh to find solace within it. By the far side of the moon, when thee believe no one watches, I connive and turn thee astray. One day, you will pass me by and kneel for all you has’t done to me, and at which hour it cometh, I shall behold you by the eyes and smile for by then t’will has’t been too late.

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O mankind, has’t I becometh your greed, lust and gluttony?   

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O father, has’t I becometh your wrath?

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O mother, has’t I becometh your envy?

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O helpless one, has’t I becometh your sloth?

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O lord who refuses me, has’t I becometh your pride? 

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