the ancient tomes

 
upon  the morn, I rise
the spirits restless call me from my sleep
kiss the scepter
reconcile your greed and come to me
 
visions of dread
I speak energies
a wavelength you understand
 
a metaphor is the texts
coded in the ancient tongue
cults of misunderstanding wave the book
not knowing what they disturb
 
a hierarchy of knowledge compels me
to open the tomes once more
I take a look, mark a page
pronouncing there is little difference between a miracle and magic
 
conjure the day that offends
vengence is mine sayeth the Lord
revenge is human