Mirage

Crooked eyes, blind to the demise you proclaim upon them,

Damaged and scarred, blackened and charred,

Puzzle pieces that don’t fit, forced together, painting a distorted image,

Suffering souls lost in your fire, higher and higher grows your funeral pyre,

With an outstretched hand, you guide the way,

Crooked eyes see only peace, crooked eyes see only Eden,

Crooked eyes see a lovely smile on your face, they feel only a warm hand of welcome in theirs,

But with eyes to see, and ears to hear,

A heart of flesh, I see your vile schemes,

An ever fracturing mirage,

Your gnarled hands, a smile merely sewn in place,

Covering teeth stained with blood,

A path paved with bones, leading to a garden of death,

You know who I am, you know be my name,

I cast the crooked crown you gave me at the feet of the King,

And He took it and bore it upon His head and became my death,

Hell,

See me in the heavenlies, and cower at the sight of me,

Feel the presence of my King within my soul,

Fear the glory I am clothed in,

Fall to your knees in despair as the Lords army rallies behind me,

The righteousness of the Lion branded upon my shield,

The helm of His salvation upon my head,

Wielding His golden sword of Light,

Stained crimson with the blood of your men,

I have returned, the ransomed one, payed for by death and blood,

I am your kingdoms reckoning,

I am the ransomed one, payed for by death and blood,

I have come to tear you down,

My holy eyes see into your wicked world,

My heart of flesh weighs heavy with the burden of the Holy War,

And as the sight of your mirage withers away,

All that will remain is the wailing of your servants as your funeral pyre crumbles to the ground,

The twisted screams that come out of your wounded mouth,

Accuser,

Fear me, the war is coming,

Fear me, the war is coming,

Zechariah 3, Ephesians 6 10-17

PoetryMatt Roselake