Mythra

promises of eternal golden calves
in anewed, anointed guises
whilst the whores of babylon live dispersed
incognito, shaded in premature dreams
of wrath masked as salvation

the bull of Mithra may now live
unmolested, but unredeemed
for he of the logos revealed as man
bled for the suffering of ascension
and thus commanded us to consume
his blood rather than baptize in it

but alas, this wound seems immune to healing
and floods battlefields and minds
with the entrails of the faithful and
the faithless alike

come then ye
for the messiah is insane
the bull in untethered rampage
and the New Great Flood
is a rising ocean of blood
and prayers and mantras are like screams

"I AM" we cry,
"I AM NOT" comes the reply
and in the Abyss between
where the crown falls into the dust of our material being
we are but lost babes
fatherless, motherless
but incapable of self-less
whilst under the eye of the demiurge
of some Ego of whom even the Archons
know not from whence it came
or how it started