What’s that sound???
The Gnostic prayer
That’s the sound of happiness and hope going up in smoke boy. Another day spent in proverbial Helter skelter purgatory. Chains exercising the demons of your mortal coil, shaking you to the very depths of your core, in places you ain’t never let others see or be in.
Time triggers actions reactions, guilty verdicts before jaded jurors that sentenced you long before you were ever even brought up on charges of disturbing the peace, or setting people free of caged thought and blind following.
A hammer cracks the senses open, exposing harsh truths once buoyant like the maiden voyage of the Titanic that too was designed to withstand the elements only the true God of the Old Testament could deliver or create.
The pain of innocence, sheared away, My skin stripped raw to exposed ligaments and sinewy flesh, from razor and salted wind. It IS no lie that a feral type of madness is released and takes over actions and soul alike.
Ashera’s wooden pole standing erect, center stage among the kindling, fifteen feet of Holy communion, to be set ablaze and decide the fate of the martyr, the sinner, saint… and thief.
Taken hostage as prize and political, religious pawn Jean d’Arc, spiritual warrior girl, child of God. Brazen blazen without tears fears or cries, took the Holy mantle upon herself to conquer a nation in His name. Immolated, yet liberated from this world to the next. Substantiated, exonerated from false claims of sorcery, to be prophet saint of France.
Her divine mission’s initiation.
A gaslight burns in an attempt to refine your words and actions. A public fool in harlequin garb dressed in rags that none hears. Hypocrites dance while pots call kettles black and nothing is settled until you sacrifice your own reality and submit to the charges that the public have addressed.
There is no right
There is no wrong
Only bloody tracks left in the snow that lead to the guilty party no matter what the truth of it all may be.
There’s your judge, your jury, your witnesses upon the stand that have found you guilty of …
Sin
Yours is the truth that floats upon the water feeding emerald ducks. Chasing morsels of reality different than the norm’s perception, devouring it in single gulps, leaving no trace that it ever existed at all.
And that…
Is your epitaph
Here lies the bleeding soul.
Guilty and innocent of everything and nothing at all. The King of Kings, The Martyr of Saints. The sacrificial lamb of all that once was once Holy. There is no name, there is no date, no purpose, no divine intervention.
The status quo for the Prometheus man that once found the inner spark of the ALL.
Crucified, justified by zealots, kings, and fools alike. Follow the lemmings to their inevitable death as the masses crash to the shore. Pigs squeal in agony as their identities that have defined them, are ripped away and cast out as they too rushed down the steep embankment into the lake of truth, and drowned with no remorse.
I am a man of few words
I am a man of little law
I am a man of freedom
I do not impose my beliefs upon others or try to make snap judgements upon the actions of MAN.
Turn the other cheek
Do unto others as
they would to do to you
Find joy in the coming moments
Underneath the rising sun
Do what thou wilt
Shall be the whole of the Law
Love is the Law
Love
Under Will
93
*(Matthew Bowers)* ~93
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The House of Raven 🐦⬛ 