So it seems
that a braided light has fallen
upon the things not intended
for the eyes of the uninitiated,
those miserable sots
with sagging lips incapable of music.
I wish they’d keep more to themselves,
or better yet – dissolve.
Beauty of mind is a privilege,
a privilege allotted only to those
who are willing to make
the necessary sacrifices.
One must be prepared to lose a limb or two,
a quiet suburban home,
and a balanced checking account,
though oft times the limbs are sufficient.
The god we serve isn’t friendly.
The god we serve is a menace,
a magma surge poured
over millions of screaming villagers
who’ve neglected to consider
that when the lava finally hardens,
they’ll be preserved for all eternity
as True works of Art,
of however morbid a sort.
In short, the god we serve is an asshole.
But aren’t all gods allowed to be assholes?
They see farther
than we could ever hope to,
farther than our eyes can fathom.