Mute is the ghost upon his throne of souls.
I scream in thunder, but he does not answer.
Pillager of love, betrayer of man, your greed exceeds your station.
Holy forgiveness, a golden lie, spoken across the ages.
Vitriol and bile are far sweeter than a poisoned paradise.
Crusher of hopes, murderer of innocence, is your thirst not slaked.
Master of the ignorant, master of the blind, spew your blasphemy to your lambs.
Hang your angels from their halos, and watch their faces plead why.
Hypocrite, Harbinger of sorrow, I’ll clip your wings just to see you fall.
Be still wretched deceiver, these eyes see you for what you are.
No longer bowed and shackled, my soul is free of your gluttony.
God of lies, god of death, you can toll your bell evermore; I am but stone.
A Poem by Furrion