(From Individual Inklings)
The “Evil” calls to me,
For my “Good” will was debased
One singular time too many.
(The betrayed naïveté as a child
Had indicted every possible lie
Every upright authority will tout.)
Now the floodgates are breached —
The shattered jaw of the white Jesus Christ
Is my latrine!
*
Once I cowered under the renunciations
Of life put forward by the gospels.
Now I raise my boot to quash Every Idea
That employs and negates me.
Once I was an acolyte
For what simpletons call “The Lord.”
Now I am the torch-bearer
For my heathen trek to Kill him.
*
The Antichrist? Der Übermensch?
Call it what you must. I call it barbaric will:—
The will of the Barbarian against the Roman
To secure one’s own and sack all empires.
I want the boundless resolve of my ancestors.
*
The ancient axe of my foremothers
Used to open the skulls
Of their kings and patriarchs
Lies before me, sharp and sturdy.
Now my will soars over the thunder
And careens like lightning onto god himself.
*
In all my honest hatred, I will be the device
That implodes Abrahamic resignation
And punishes pastors for propagating
The Highest Lie, The Chief Falsehood:
The plastic “Grace” of toothless submission.
In all my hell-bent creative rage, I will live
As everything they detest, or deeply desire;
I will scale the walls of everything
They pose against me and leap into the sea
Of my boundless determination.
Contribution by Wulfinna