Evil antagonists of the clergy,
The Reverend forced to his knees;
As clean, and as untarnished as the dense fur-
White-hot stars from the North.
“Take me, free, me,” the voices relay,
Deep and sorrowful – crossing worlds.
“And rule, with heavy hands and few words!”
Let the masses wonder,
In hesitance of a black or white future.
Imprints of the cross;
Imprints of people long passed, long gone-
Beyond the Boundary of that fretful snow-North,
Where cold is unshifting,
Where the ice moves not an inch South,
Where thoughts freeze as they are conjured.
“Hurry, with the words, and with the devilsome deeds!”
Jaws wide open, teeth bared,
As the pulpit is savaged,
As the beast ruminate through dreams of terror
War on the horizon,
They scream “The Battle of Needs!”
Ringing tempered, and true,
Orphaned by the lives in which they thought they knew.
Pleading to some eternal, eclectic creature.
“Away! Away! AWAY!”
Shout the cries as the White Beasts pound nearer.
Until, all that’s left
Are the souls of a thousand moons.
Eyes vacated – voice after voice, quelled.
The White Beasts have taken this day,
Starting at one again,
The remainder, they simply pray.