| |
|
|
I did not have any apostles, but shadows which
dragged in my footsteps. I knew the word of sin
even before its inception, because I carried it
as the sun cast them, on those which followed.
They walked on the waters, while I was standing
in a boat, watching the outline of their shapes
in the pale light of the moon, stretching out into
eternal night, and onto the banks of the lake.
I walked through places where time does not exist,
and veiled myself in it as a sign of the conditions
of the Aeons, and those whom put faith and trust in
the Gods, as I left my shadows on the surface of
the suns, but I did not notice how they blurred out,
and became one with it, becoming its obscure hue.
I followed them more than they followed me. I only
knew them half, dimly, like a night with a whore
who was sweeter than any hope of Paradise.
I was restored by Her, and Serpentia was ready to
latch on to my flesh and devour the high heavens.
It was not a sin, but the love of creation and creator,
and they hated me for it, called me a blasphemer
but none of them dared to throw the first stone.
They knew it themselves, had tasted the same fruit,
and enjoyed it, like you enjoy the taste of meat,
and wine, handed to you on a silver plate:
I revealed a shadow unto them and it convicted me to
the judgement of others: To carry my burden for
them. The Cross. Hung up like a poster. Yet another
warning not to betray yourself. They called me
Judas before my death, but they never knew us,
and Christ the day after insurrections, but did not
understand it. Every man is a legion, more than it
pretends to be, and every shadow which follows
after, is a revealation of the darkness of the sun. |