(To Anthony Albanese and Prakash Saint Paul, the protagonists of evil…)
Do you think I must bathe in the desertification of my soul?
It seems like an agony of eternity! Should I lay the wreath on my own grave!
That God should walk again and again, bravely to his fate
where the entrails of time only ever-lastingly read out to him
the prophecy of defeat. I have never counted on anything else
but the potion of my own integrity, simmering in the gauntlet
that I was inebriated upon. You can call it the madness, the insanity
of Don Quixote in his illusions. God had to be a handmaid of destiny
to have his fragile intrepidity, lynched by cowards. You can take even
a brave bull, not by its horns, but by the red of rapine. You can trap the bear
in its lair, by the blue of blasphemy against all things righteous.
Evil’s crosshairs, of course, are not intertwined with shame!
I know my armies, and I didn’t rest in their encampments!
It is a long story of being held hostage by hateful predators!
God is even ransomed for his love, and blackmailed?
Why would you think he dies and rises, only to die again?
Is there no pause to the prevention of Paradise,
and can it only be prevalent if perverted by poison?
God is adamant he wants no such malevolence in the making!
God’s forbearance may look like discomposure, but never demise!
He is never foppish, nor diffident in his sublimity and patience
Hey evil, that abounds as numerous as the fish in the seas
even on land, do you ever look up to the skies, and hear God’s gravel voice?
montes-musings.blog 