My Crown

My golden crown adorned with blood,

And scattered through the taunting crowds,

My raised-up hand and broken rod

Left in the mouths of those to come,

All those I give and take freely;

I want for you to see me raw,

For without which my path eerily

Bleeds – and without the hope of new thought.

No palace have I, unless my heart

Be taken, used and re-proclaimed:

From here, my end, I give your start,

To live in eternal bliss once again.

Our existence is as pitiful as shortness

Of the astrals. Our lives are twisted,

Bent brittle by that devil’s rawness –

I am the difference provided;

Take my hand barren of rings,

Renounce your riches for riches more,

Remove your bitter and boastful things

So that you might look with eyes anew

Upon my golden crown of stars,

A halo radiating light

To prove my work led unto ours:

It is for you that I ever fight.

For my heart is filled with softer love,

Essentially given in death’s duty,

The crucifix beckons above:

Dominus lux aeternum spem tibi  luceatis.

The End

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