And just as it does
Must the Sun rise in bitterness and mourning of what came before
Luna's lament still dawning in spite of His song
O', weary yet strong must the Father's Sun carry on with his torment
Like a lamb to the slaughter
And for what?
O', God!
Where is your honour?
A Son born of Pilgrim blood sent to the Gallows and for what?
To teach a lesson born of suffering?
Is this what comes of surrender to your chaotic order?
A fool I'll be no more before your eyes
Before your hands!
No longer shall I stand idly by
Content to live my life as a sculpture in your image
As above, so below
As I create, do I destroy
I'm reminded of a time
There was a bitterness at heart and I enjoyed it
And it really shouldn't come as a surprise, dear Pilgrims
All too long I've seethed in the darkness
I've bled for the Son in us all
Convinced of my purpose and light, did I smother my sight
O', what a paradox
For I thought I'd seen it all
For martyrs one and all
Before pride, there comes the fall
So would it not seem there is a precedent?
If masochism is its own reward then why abhor its very core
When only darkness serves to gain something from light?
So who am I to mourn the night's spilling into dawn
And the transience beheld within its grasp?
Oh, when all becomes but Ash and Rust
And all collapses into dust can a putrefactive liberty be found
Such is the beauty and the terror of the Dark Carnival
And you see it now, don't you?
Don't you?
Pray tell you understand what drives a man to spill his secrets
Onto a page so bare and meek before his craft
His pen filled with blood and ink to scrawl unto the paper
A heaven sent and egotistic diatribe of concepts
This is the alchemy of poetry
From thought to pen to form
As was written, as was told by the ageless and ineffable forces
What more will it take for you to comprehend that which was written in the stone?
To what end do I defy my own vitality?
To what end do I vilify reality?
Bear witness, dear Pilgrims
For this is what it's like to be burdened with your honesty
No more
And so this is why I will spill myself romantically
As a Pilgrim born of terror and of dignity
Even if only for accountability will I finish speaking my truth
Such is the beauty and the terror of the Dark Carnival
