Ever Closer to the Reckoning
Brave ones braved stiff winds tearing through Khaiber;
Upon high-ways transgressors reported Their presence,
Portents of end days inscribed upon motes of dust.
How many communities of evildoers have We destroyed?
In devotional fictions the apprehensive ones beneath cliffs and within them,
Bearing unoiled iron boar-pikes, tarnished steel battle-hooks,
Prophets bearing incensed altars and sacrifice within Their brows.
How many others have We raised up in their place?
They announce that ‘devotion without justice is blindness,’
And ‘blindness is the enemy of the fighter,’
Seeing that His was not an even road to travel; sun’s peak.
When they felt Our might coming upon them, see how they tried to escape it.
That resistance to tyranny is suicide of the soul of power cannot be disputed
For They are the soul of the people’s will; ever stoic, humbly plotting implosion.
Incongruent theory, practice, and execution crumble the walls of paradise.
Go back to the pleasures you reveled in.
And so they marched to dune-fall by night to caverns deep,
In which arachnid and serpent in darkness breed;
Insects performing cannibalistic infanticide, bloodlines rotting within webs.
Go back to your homes.
Stones, only stones will bury the past,
The nightmare of injustice suffocating beneath compressed earth;
This is Their paradise.
You will be questioned.
Chant down the Devil’s towers and with black rain of a tipped hell planet,
In which Saint Paul’s massif brews within it night’s icy waters,
And the bodies of the poisoners and liars and whoremongers float fermenting.
‘Our voices, rusty like our radio wires and military buttons?’ by lamplight They murmur,
‘Is it our beards that collect filth, and does this filth purify our minds?’
An ancient idol, meditating figures dug into the cliff walls,
Breath Khaiber’s fumes which bear inscribed upon it motes of dust,
Natural manifestations of the second coming that will one day bear witness to our ruin
As our decomposing earth will become star-matter, fodder for Titans.