Events in Verse

Chronicle X

Fratricide

Upon the fields of Mercury appeared,

A silent horde that stood at crater’s edge.

The beast began to laugh and roar, “What’s here?

A hairless, bastard pack of dogs play fetch.”

One man stepped out, “Our father knows us still,

And waits to see us slice your wayward tongue.”

The burning ground beset by sour swill

was split to herald how the godson hung.

An ancient hymn of sky and clouds filled full

the crater with ancestral circumstance.

The acid notes seeped through his roaring skull.

Destruction’s slave held fast in music’s trance.

The half-gods charged to risen brother meet

And shattered bones to rob the rotten feet.

Chronicle IX

Judgment

The blackened stones rose o’er the tan and green,

With cloaks of gray spread out on chapel walls.

A disciplined reaction to the fiend,

Each judge cast down with force from protocol.

These bureaucratic spells sprang to the hide,

But searing, rotting holes did stay and rest.

The beast could not but stumble out of stride;

A slouching god encumbered by a test.

A putrid liquid burst on chosen ground,

While skins and cloaks were made to be the same.

Soon mounting prayers repaired the melted pounds,

Both sides stood silent bearing studied pain.

A desperate struggle waxed and waned twelve years,

‘Twixt son born dead and stewards of god’s fear.

Chronicle VIII

Chronicle VIII

The Trial

The earth had weathered circling winds and fire

She saw the plains with flood and quake reduced

But never had she witnessed such a sire

Who scoffed rebirth and spat on nature’s truce

He showed not signs of slowing or respite

And slaughtered men fell silent by the way

His path remained a desolate midnight

The wench and child left waiting for the day

A deep’ning pall drew o’er the land and seas

A veil of cinders drifted through the haze

The single landmarks left great lonely trees

Now blackened spears that only upwards gazed

Towards temple sacred now destruction aimed

Where judges render verdicts still unnamed

Chronicle VII

On High

The clouds in black erased the sun and sky,

As burning air leapt out the throne room doors.

The Lord of Storms did watch as heralds writhed

And filled with anger fit to split the core.

“Those knights were not of steel I now do know,

But stuffed with women’s rags and suckling meat.

My son has razed a town and still he sows

More seeds to grow dishonoring my feats.”

The temples shook with thunder and turned dark,

As clerics gathered ‘round to hear the call.

His Glory killed the weaklings and the marked,

But stronger souls persisted after all.

The cloaks and chants grew thick on mudded paths;

A holy blood now coursing fraught with wrath.

Chronicle VI

Death & Disorder

A thousand years ago this grave was dug

In valley now with flesh and blood replete.

The weeping widow would not sweep the rug,

For hopeless is the home with silent feet.

Of all the men, the only one who stands

Is robed with furs and crouched in cellar deep.

A final check and wringing of the hands

Brought forth the mayor of the fast asleep.

He called to urchins playing in the street,

Who heard his voice but did not turn their eyes.

And walking on, the mayor felt relief,

For he had yet some folks to organize.

He turned towards the sinking sun for signs

And saw it drift behind the fiery pines.

The Storm

Chronicle I

Son of Storms

The Lord of Storms begot a newborn son.

From day to day he grew upon the clouds.

His strength was great. “Now surely all’s undone.

The boy is young, his power knows no bounds.”

The mother of the boy was weak yet quick.

She knew her son, with all his strength, was mute.

The boy would need a voice himself to pick,

One of whose loins he’d surely been a fruit.

“You are your father’s son, your muteness yet,

He hates with all the raging of his heart.

My son, my son, though, do not o’er this fret;

In overthrow shall you and I take part.

The Lord of Storms had yet an ancient eye

And did the blood flow from the darkened sky.

Chronicle II

The Resurrection

The mother was herself a crafty witch

And hid in caves that ran beneath the earth.

The stolen body then began to twitch.

The caverns rang with howls of rebirth.

“You speak, you speak in death you are not mute,

And now we plan your father’s grand demise.

His dirge will have no tambourine or flute

And we shall reign in time above the wise.”

“My mother, have you raised me then to die

A second death in service to your will?

My father’s death does certainly draw nigh

But you, mother, his blood shall not see spilled.”

The stinking hands took hold the witch’s hair

And rent her neck, no drop of blood was spared.

Chronicle III

Reign of Retribution

A wind blew foul from gaping mouths

Of caverns deep beneath the soil

With crops and carts on mountain South

The slanted fields filled full from toil

The thunderous steps rang out their sound

In valleys and on slopes of stone

The beast marched on and ravaged ground

Gave up its ghost with but a groan

Each soldier, farmer stood aghast

As light was snuffed from house and barn

With frantic thoughts from woven past

Of life’s short, shoddy shrinking yarn

The village vaulted prayers on high

To god of rain and cloud and sky

Chronicle IV

The Storm Gathers

Four knights ride forth on steeds of steel

With clouds in tow as fat with feast

The wind precedes while thunder peals

They ride to greet the murd’rous beast

In valley low now filled with mire

The rotting head begins to reel

The jaws release a summons dire

Four knights approach and bear their seal

The Lord of Storms has sent his thralls

To raise his banner over all

Chronicle V

The Destroyer Speaks

I will find cities and fill them with dread

I will find warriors and hoist their scarred heads

I will bring locust and fever and storm

I will bring mountains to horizon conform

I will drink of the blood of the earth

I will own mankind from death until birth

The sea filled with corpses

The land filled with graves

Among which a rotten lone lunatic raves