Each morning they spoke our words,
Translating every single one as that of their God.
The message of each was the same;
Hear me speak the word of God,
Entrust your faith to me.
Perception devastated the groups
As different ideologies prospered.
Gestures of envy and greed filled conversations.
Feelings of glorified hierarchy flowed freely
Through judging eyes,
Forging relationships plagued by bitterness.
Disassociation formed between the groups.
I was intrigued by the implementation.
The mindless congregations believed and followed
Every word the preachers spoke in their sermons.
Mayhem would serve as the course during a festival.
Both groups were amongst the crowd.
The whispers tormenting their thoughts and beliefs.
Empowered by the preacher and embellished,
The words spoke of strategic tactics of power.
A merciless vision of civil recourse and determination
Embodied the essence of each preacher and his pawns.
Within that festival, within that celebration,
Blood was boiling, tempers were breaking.
Along with my demons, I waited.
The large fire resided within the center of the courtyard.
The vastness of the blaze fought back the frigid weather
And illuminated every face that looked upon it.
The fire danced effortlessly.
A spark was what I needed,
A subconscious act of turmoil
So precise that would escalate into confrontation.
I tasked Beelzebub to conjure a plan.
A plan devious enough to finally revolt the preachers.
Beelzebub, deviating from my initial idea,
Picked up an apple and tossed the fruit through the fire.
The red skin caught ablaze and guided a trail of smoke.
The apple struck the preacher directly in his head,
Sending rinds scattering amongst the crowd.
I looked to Beelzebub,
Who was grinning from ear to ear.
After removing remnants of the fruit from his hair,
The preacher turned red,
Not from the apple, not from the fire,
But from anger.
The two groups shouted words of inconsistencies
And values of a true relationship with God,
But their stubbornness and faltered faith
Allowed no translation from ear to mind.
Beelzebub, once again inflicted a spark
By simply pushing against the back of one supporter.
The force sent him forward into an adjacent man.
The escalation of the event was instant.
Torches were swung in the cold air.
Blood spilled against the darkened sky.
The moon wept that night;
The stars bled with sorrow and despair.
The prolonged anger towards one another surged,
Altering the celebration into a chaotic gala of pain.
All based upon religious biases;
All in the name of two separate Gods.
If allowed, all would have suffered and died,
But I needed delegates to spread religious differences.
With blood on the ground and fear in the air,
Each preacher left the village in opposite directions
With no predetermined course or journey.
Carrying only a small satchel, they walked.
A mind filled of sinful thoughts
And a belief system based on their version of God.
The preachers became traveling nomads
Extending their messages far beyond imaginable.
A wind of corruption spanned the great oceans
And climbed the highest mountains.
Mistaken interpretation plagued religion
As well as the imaginative nature of the mind.
Over time, the message was dramatically butchered
And bludgeoned beyond recognition.
The embellishment of the spoken words
Were not portrayed the same of that which was heard.
The essence of seven demons, seven sins, seven days
Transformed into six, six, six.
I did not ponder much on the details.
To do so would be unfeasible and unwise.
With religion fully infected with sin
And the preachers spreading my message,
I found serenity back within my underground realm.
With mankind spreading my sins across the land
Through means of religion, folklore and tales,
My production system was put to the test.
Flesh carrying souls consistently entered the outer tunnels
And fed the various fields in hopes to reach the city.
The filtration would successfully slow
The travels of a few and alter the paths of many.
The complete cavern housing the city
Was vast and wide to the eye
With the walls reaching up as far as the eye could see
And spanning down to the depths of the forsaken river.
The carved cells located to the top
Were deemed the closest to God
And gifted to those with a lighter sentence.
Downward, towards the hungry beast of the currents,
The cells became less desirable
As the threat of rising tides was always apparent.
If congestion within the prison was ever a concern,
The river would be allowed to rise
And cleanse the cells of any soul within its reach.
Each cell, regardless of its location within the cavern walls
Allowed its occupants to witness the city
For the purpose of seeing the glorious opportunities
And the sought after sentence of labor.
Confinement could send a soul into a chaotic state.
An essence of the mortal mind remained
With the soul upon the separation from body.
The brittle state would be stricken with reality
As the slow duration of their stay
Took ahold of their thought patterns
And decided which visions were seen.
If ever a soul was deemed unfit for confinement,
They were considered a failure.
A personal cell overlooking the city
Was an endowment that would never be insulted.
Depending upon the state of the mind,
Whether correctable or lost,
The soul would either be granted a new sentence
Or pushed through their opened cell door
And allowed to plunge into the hungry river.
While I was away, the howls of the imprisoned
Echoed through the cavern in a low growl.
Upon my return, silence reigned.
I did not foresee my sheer hatred for souls.
I did not imagine having to overlook them.
My task was to unleash sin, but that had altered.
I tolerated what was asked of me,
But I did not have to befriend those that I encountered.
My anger with my own sentence was well known.
To release my pure despise for the human race,
I often visited the outer tunnels
To where the dead corpses plummeted from the sky;
Sent by the angels of God to begin their afterlife.
The angels had no remorse
When tossing them into my fields
And I would show even less upon my welcoming.
No nightmare would ever equal the sight for mortal eyes
Than arriving within a mysterious land of death
And coming face to face with me, its creator.
Each soul infested body, randomly chosen.
I did not know which was worse,
Being a soul selected for annihilation,
Or being a soul witnessing the destruction of another.
To have that vision embedded in one’s mind
As they began their path of darkness was brutal.
My purpose within the outer caves
Was to merely release wrath
In order to soothe my angered intentions.
My scythe carving through fresh human bodies
Granted me that release.
I would choose a field and wait within the darkness.
They would fall into my darkened pit;
The collision against the solid ground
Was no match for the mortal body.
The mind was stricken of sight and sound.
Moans of agony always began the awakening process.
I allowed the mind to struggle
With the acceptance that its body was wrongfully led
To a place of unknown origin.
The mind instructs its follower to rise
In order to study the environment.
As the eyes roamed for any sort of light,
They would receive only the glistening of my blade.
Their hands outreached to grasp anything for support
Both physically and mentally.
Fear of the dark alone was enough to cripple a mind.
To not allow wrath to control my complete emotions,
I often stepped forward to gift my visitor a personable
Object to relate to within the dark.
Calmness of the mind relaxed the torturous unknown.
The hands studied my face.
I did not need to offer that peace, but I did for the idea
That I wished I had been gifted the same in return.
Upon the sigh of relief,
A gasp of tranquility from the mouth of the stranger,
I would always be reminded of the hardships
I faced in the seven day stint in my prison.
The sorrow of the unknowing between life and death.
The very hardship I would deliver to those chosen
To find themselves within my fields.
My blade made the extraction from deep within their chest.
My grip around their soul proved my power.
The soul was burdened with the unavoidable task
To watch the sheer destruction of its body.
Already confused by observing their corpse,
The soul would try desperately to re-enter its shell.
The thought was prevalent, but useless.
The soul could not turn away as its body
Was disfigured beyond recognition.
The soul was then allowed to continue towards the city.
I dared not think about my wrath left uncontrolled.
My release was justified
And meant to appease the stability of the realm.
My own personal imprisonment
Within caverns full of the dead
Even tested my sanity,
As I struggled with my own reality.
I despise the humans as they are granted choices.
They are allowed to succeed.
I am envious of man; I am envious of choice.
In return, I offer no pity on them.
I offer no remorse to those I torment.
Your faith does not matter to me.
Your level of belief in God does not matter to me.
Your level of sin matters to me.
V: LAMB
My name has become well versed across the land.
It flows through the ears of the weak
And battles with the strong.
It passes over the lips of the great
And lifts with the tongues of the dead.
It has become a symbol of fear.
I have shed many emotions.
I have been confused by my memories;
Angered by my visions.
I have been resentful of the humans;
Tempted by my own sins.
I have been guilty of greed, lust, envy,
Pride, sloth, gluttony and wrath.
I have been hurt from the pain; afraid from the fear.
I have been depressed by my mind;
Weakened at my crossroads.
But there was one emotion that I had not yet endured.
There was one emotion that was hidden from me
Throughout all I had experienced.
An emotion which would be my undoing.
An emotion directed toward God himself.
One so detrimental that it should be the eighth sin.
The emotion of disappointment.
God had forsaken me and cursed my faith with doubt.
All of which occurred with the birth of a son.
During one of my travels to ensure the progress of sin,
I had been visiting a local preacher
Who broke free from my scripted words
And spoke of a son; a Lamb of God.
From my slumbering state, I awoke with greedy ears.
It was infallible that God would have a son
And for what purpose; what cause?
I became angry with myself for falling victim
To the preacher’s story of enlightenment.
Outside, I was met with joy and anticipation;
Both of which I despised greatly.
With my sins fully entrenched within society,
It should not be fathomable to have such pleasure.
With the threat of my realm being their eternity,,
It was impossible to show such happiness.
The words of the preacher echoed through walls.
He said that God would soon visit a virgin
With the task of giving birth to a son.
I made my way to a different city.
While walking the corridors, I heard the tale once more.
A prophet standing on the corner spewing of the child.
All ears that heard him believed his words.
They left his presence with smiles.
An aura of happiness was shielding them from my sins.
Such a tale of deception that challenged my own.
Had one of my demons conjured that demented tale?
Every story had a beginning,
Even the twisted ones.
To study the foundation of the tale,
I chose to follow a preacher not yet infected.
For days, I appeared as his shadow.
The answer in which I sought
Did not arrive as easily as I had imagined.
To live the life of a preacher bored me,
But one night while the preacher slept,
A cool breeze flowed into his abode.
Hidden well within the shadows,
I watched as an angel flew into his room.
She hovered over him and whispered into his ear.
The servants of God visiting preachers?
My mind plagued me with questions.
I remained in the shadows until the angel left.
Upon the rise of the sun,
I followed the preacher to his congregation.
As his gathering filtered in to their seats.
His cheerfulness spread amongst the audience.
A new religious notion counteracting my own.
Why was the birth of a son important to mankind?
Every city I walked through, every village
Spread the story of the upcoming child.
Sins became overshadowed.
My work, my deeds, my conquest;
All pushed aside.
I prayed to God for understanding,
But received nothing in return.
I prayed to God for my course to remain true,
But received nothing in return.
With no word or sign from God,
My curiosity carved
my insides
As I spoke with locals from a village.
They were loading up their horses with resources.
I asked them where they were traveling to.
They responded that they were traveling east
To see the child and worship at his manger.
My mind became disruptive
As the birth of the son became true.
I asked if I could travel with them
As I too, wished to worship.
A desolate land full of sand was to be our goal.
The dry air was to my liking, but the travelers’ joy
Was devastating upon my blackened heart.
The clear, darkened skies provided our landscape
With the brightest stars I had ever seen.
We crested a large sand dune
And saw our destination within the horizon.
A trail of nomads, gypsies, peasants and prophets
Waited for their chance to worship the child.
I felt more like a stranger than ever before,
But I desired to know the origin.
As I neared, it became apparent that I was not welcomed.
A small root exited the sand and took hold of my ankle.
The sand beneath me began to sink quickly,
But I grasped the reins of the horse to pull me out.
I noticed an old woman ahead of us.
Her stride was not as strong as the others.
I came upon her while she glared at me
And began to sing the hymn I knew so well.
It was the song of the banshee.
Her presence made me uneasy,
But I continued with my travels.
I had no intentions with the child
Other than to see for myself if the story was true.
So why the attention and obstacles?
What was the child to become
That protection was poured
Down upon him from the skies?
The banshee remained close, matching my every footstep.
I could see the top of the manger above the crowd.
Another old hag appeared on the opposite side of me.
The nomads knelt before the manger with gifts in hand,
Neither of which I intended to do.
However, to not anger my guides,
I pulled a golden goblet from a satchel.
There was a peace in the air; a tranquility like no other.
An alignment of the stars;
A moon, the fullest I have ever laid eyes upon.
More of the manger came into view.
Kings and shepherds stood on either side.
Various animals rested peacefully.
Before the manger, I stood.
Before the shepherds, I stood.
Before the kings, I stood.
Each of their eyes staring at me
As if they knew who I was.
My name had traveled far,
But no face ever traveled with it.
The Harvester Page 9