An Infant Called Babylon

Free Verse ReVolution

At everything’s end it’s
said that
seven churches
staked their
worship,
a whole life’s
purpose on
the verses of a
madman

who said

the beasts from the
ocean will be
broken as
we are
with more teeth
and less
charm.

Our complete
destruction will be its
beating heart and
collapsed
lungs
struggling
to find
last breaths.

That God’s wrath is
circumstantial,
substantial
pockets where
the ground should
be are
merely
accidental.

That lakes of fire only
exist in desire to
watch
the whole
world
burn.

I am the
pencil that draws
horizons of flames,
playing
God in his
stead,

twisting Creation
from pain.

Until the skies
harbour the
rainbows of
Hell,
all my devils
remain.

Forever children who
will grow to be
harlots,

angels of the
scarlet dawn
persuasion.

On the tail
end of
revelations,
beyond the
limits of
God’s
infinite patience,

we were willing to
cut off our
wings…

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