Silver Tongue
Songs of Prophecy
He feasts upon his words!
Balladry of battles lost.
Omniscient megalith,
Responsible of such death.
What we have won carries with it
The cost of fates much worse.
The countless efforts of the scorned
Will echo evermore.
It is not within my means
To change this providence!
Yarrow stick and runed scrimshaw
Fall in patterns so bleak and sure.
The garden never ours to own,
We never lay within his lap.
Our struggle won with gripe and grief,
We cannot crave a fallacy.
Pitiable routes so certain,
A hindrance must be sought.
Blood borne ascendance,
Bestowing rites to challenge.
Charcoal glyphs to carry
What words cannot past life.
School our angered cries
To enunciate our intent.
With every generation,
Mercenaries and emissaries
Unbound by genders restraint.
Emancipate our faculties.
My time is brief, a mere fragment.
We lay down warp and weft with haste.
We encourage times indulgence
To watch over our aggregate.
Spooling reams of fluent speech,
Florid blood in integers,
Recurring coils of chromosome,
Topography anatomy.
It is not just hands, but desire,
Scored grooves for liquid fire,
Casting thoughts as daggers
And tongues of silver ore.
Flailing blights of wickedness,
Through sordid jowls their agency.
At each turn our folly bays
To overthrow our victory.
Intarsia genes within the weave
Purposeful rivulets of dust.
Weapons ensconced elaborate,
A knife so sharp to cut.
(We are) one sentience amid a plethora,
Sublunary minds to urge.
Dwelling behind lithe teeth and claw,
We beseech to you our proposal;
We offer up our progeny
And we urge of you the same,
As nations rise tectonic
And earth and sea does strain.
Guardians will flank our vessel,
Pale Ursus will show their mettle.
A paradigm of allies
Stand close encircling.
For he is empire manifest,
On earth as it is in heaven.
Frail minds will underpin
His faculty of dominion.
The prophesied child:
Motes of dust effervesce,
Threads unbridled coalesce,
With futures foresight
Choose their tethers,
Embracing hands on
Prescient faces.
Reading tells in causality,
In my hands alone
Only one can unravel,
They tie off knots in my aether.
I, the prophet, sagacious child,
Fatherless and motherless.
My soul alone do I trust,
Foretold apocrypha.
Seeds of change grow within
Planted deep our final sin
Those opposed to the false god:
We will build a council, a democracy!
A nation of great magnitude, this our apogee!
A child to usher in this fate, to raise our impious war
Against the monarchy of God!
We will climb so high!
We will spread our hands
And touch ten million other worlds
And sing our sermon!
We the silver tongued.
Time is not linear; this is merely our perspective of it. The plethora of universes, many worlds, many shades of existence, species both human and non human, at all moments and all instances, rejoiced. Every cell, every molecule sang out in jubilant, for the darkest heart was cowed into uncertainty. Lucifers plea had been heard, beyond the confines of Earth, beyond the ever puissant shrouds of reality, amidst worlds of entities we may not comprehend, the whispers of free will reverberated, and at once, at all times, he was heard. Our perspective saw the tribes of Australopithecus Afarensis leaving the comforts of known climes and traveling north to the unknown, to find something in the cold spaces unmapped. There was something to find, something to explore, and as new vistas appeared before them, neurological pathways were born, new strands of awareness - that awareness a weapon against the darkness that fed from us, always teasing us, always willing us to bow for him, to give in to him. In the lowest hours, many would still seek his dank and insipid rapture.
But as the calendar stones ground new glyphs, as water flowed through gullies and eroded the limestone strata, we saw our triumph, and beyond the vibrant, excitement, the grey numbness that it was far from over. As Eve, and her kin moved onwards, already her lineage carried the greatest burden. It was now indelible, a mark of importance, to bear the torch given to her by unseen hands, hands that would guide and coax the best from us, radiating scintilla, particles of sentience willing and hoping and dancing amongst these thinking corporeal bodies. That lineage would one day culminate with a child, the final mind to hold the torch, the fruit of autonomy, a mind that would galvanise all sentience against the false God, the Allfather, the Monarch, the Authority. They would establish freewill as an absolute, to deny the cruelty of oppression. This was no longer prophecy, this was permeated with tides already in motion, a culmination many millennia from that moment, yet certainty was ours.
And in that moment, the first mind found certainty, to establish another politic. To propagate his own rapture amongst the populace of existence.