The Conqueror

The Conqueror

“If you came to conquer, you’ll be king for a day,
But you too will deteriorate and quickly fade away.”  ~Bad Religion
 
The lamplight flickers in the dark, spirits flit across.
My fevered script is given life by angels in their loss.
Scribbled words mean nothing to a pitiless god’s right.
Call upon the ancient muse to give my words her light.
 
This tale began in ages past, long before the fall.
He rode his giant nightmare steed across the hoary lawn,
His cloak wore thick around his neck; upon it hung a cross,
The lamplight flickers in the dark, spirits flit across.
 
He rode in ancient Babylon, far before the fall,
On rising drafts and climbing clouds, each city standing tall.
His steed struck hooves in Avalon, past pillars growing moss.
My fevered script is given life by angels in their loss.
 
Each clattered hoof that fell would strike down the mighty men,
In his wake he left them to start their lives again.
Now cities fall to pestilence beneath his angry blight,
Scribbled words mean nothing to a pitiless god’s right.
 
Never could a king live who could stand in his way,
And not a single blade rose that wanted him to pay,
For each town he conquered, he left them in the night.
Call upon the ancient muse to give my words her light.
 
He cut the crowns of kings and he tossed them away, cursed
But not a single victory could satisfy his thirst.
His steed and stallion famine, he rode on wings of war,
But blackened ground and ashes won’t lead him to the shore.
 
The dark man’s name was Wyrda, his sword that he called Woe,
His sustenance was empires; he strangled and brought low,
Though every fall was scripted and very well rehearsed,
He cut the crowns of kings and tossed them away, cursed.
 
In ancient Greece they named him Prometheus, a god
For the flames he brought them upon the land he trod,
And even then he suffered from wounds that no one nursed
But not a single victory could satisfy his thirst.
 
His birth was in a kingdom, whose name has now been lost,
His wicked lover led him to kill the king at cost.
She took the throne and sent him to do an awful chore,
His steed and stallion famine, he rode on wings of war.
 
And once the voices silenced, she sent him out to sea,
Betrayed, beguiled and cast out, he had nowhere to be,
Cursing at his ill luck and calling her a whore,
But blackened ground and ashes won’t lead him to the shore.
 
The eyes of slaughtered children would haunt him as he slept,
The curse of skill and swords with which he was adept.
His feet stuck chords in Hades, before Hades was king,
The Underworld was empty, no soul within to sing.
 
The deck rocked free and shook him and threw him to a rock
And in the gloom lay Cronos, his sons all in a crock.
As Wyrda watched he ate them, then to his feet he crept,
The eyes of slaughtered children would haunt him as he slept.
 
Then by his feet he found him, a child chained, named Zeus,
And with his Woe he freed him and cut the black chains loose.
Crossing blade and lightning, they felled him and they wept,
The curse of skill and swords with which he was adept.
 
Mightily Zeus made them, the Grecian gods of old
And made the man the keeper of the flames the gods uphold.
Each step drew fire from inside the land to which they cling,
His feet stuck chords in Hades, before Hades was king.
 
He saw the sons of Sparta, his lover’s foul descent,
And in the flames he burned them with the Persians that he sent.
Thermopylae, his downfall, Zeus threw him on the wing.
The Underworld was empty, no soul within to sing.
 
Imprisoned in his own rage, he stared out at the skies,
Longing for his lost home, in the tattered shadow lies.
Then from the dark he saw him, a raven king and crown,
The blood still fresh upon him from throwing the gods down.
 
The god-king named him Loki, and Odin took the throne,
His blade and sons around him, and yet he was alone,
And Loki was his prisoner, the silent blade that lies.
Imprisoned in his own rage, he stared out at the skies.
 
In the dark begot them, a serpent and a sin,
His chance and hope for freedom to break the chains within.
But not a shard of vengeance would satisfy his cries,
Longing for his lost home, in the tattered shadow lies.
 
The wind whipped high around them as Odin and his sons
Brought down their rage upon them, their blades with slashing stuns
The wolf and serpent slew them, no god could stand their sting,
Then from the dark he saw him, a raven crown and king.
 
His mighty mace, he crushed them, and left a bloody stain,
But Wyrda known as Loki proved himself as Odin’s bane
And climbed down from Valhalla, its rocky face a frown,
The blood still fresh upon him from throwing the gods down.
 
The passing flames that flicker remade the world in dust,
The silent blade he called Woe began to gather rust.
He wandered through the star graves and quickly lost his way
And he fueled the fire that led him to the fray.
 
Beyond the cosmic canyon he found a ruined shack,
Above the door read the words, “Abandon Hope, Go Back.”
But simple words were worthless against his battle lust,
The passing flames that flicker remade the world in dust.
 
Then from the fire creation poured out a lengthy map,
And seven long days later Wyrda took a mighty nap
While man in his own image walked the new world’s crust.
The silent blade he called Woe began to gather rust.
 
In their perfect Eden, Eve bore Adam a son
Lucifer they named him, his eyes a slanted run.
But the child bore their god’s stain, night burning through the day,
He wandered through the star graves and quickly lost his way.
 
Awakening from slumber Wyrda saw his foul mistake,
He cast them from the garden and threw them in a lake.
On it they built a fortress to make their ex-god pay,
And he fueled the fire that led him to the fray.
 
The wanderer returned then and Wyrda took him in,
Black as night he led him in raids against his kin.
The fallen sons of Adam could not survive his rage
And Lucifer’s black poison wrapped words around each page.
 
The fortress known as Sodom was greatest in his wrath,
Its sister named Gomorrah was second on his path.
Pathos rained upon them and he burnt them for their sin,
The wanderer returned then and Wyrda took him in.
 
“Lucifer,” he asked him, “what is their hidden flaw?”
“My Lord, they are idyllic yet trample on your law,
Turn them to salt before you and they’ll stop their foolish grin.”
Black as night he led him in raids against his kin.
 
Alien white pillars stood sentry in the waste
But one man, Job, stood still, and stared god face to face.
“We have been wronged,” he said then, “It’s time you left the stage,”
The fallen sons of Adam could not survive his rage.
 
His singing steel struck down Woe, and dropped him to his knees,
But the man called Job showed weakness and listened to his pleas.
So Lucifer struck down and took god’s place as sage
And Lucifer’s black poison wrapped words around each page.
 
Immortal Wyrda weakened and thrashed inside his cell,
Calling out to mortals from within his private hell.
Lucifer, the new god, rose up with angels high,
Setting stone and mortar for a castle in the sky.
 
Calling Wyrda Satan, he turned the men away
And twisted them his own way to keep them in his sway,
And left the dark one writhing in an empty, violent swell.
Immortal Wyrda weakened, and thrashed inside his cell.
 
Still there were those who saw him and chose to be his slaves,
And stood in hell before him, absorbing angry raves.
He sent them out to cause war and his black story tell,
Calling out to mortals from within his private hell.
 
Centuries that fly by like epochs in the mist
Saw no end to fighting with blade or blow or fist.
Wyrda at his chained post, still blackened by his lies,
Lucifer, the new god, rose up with angels high.
 
A little lad named Jesus broke free from god’s command
And loosed the chains on Wyrda, ignoring reprimand.
It took three days to free him and he rose up with a cry,
Setting stone and mortar for a castle in the sky.
 
Each armed with armies mortal, no consequence or worth,
The fury lay between them, as snow fell on the earth.
The empty darkness choking, and laughing with a curse,
No fate for mortals, fearing; the dark and nothing, worse.
 
The air grew dense with arrows like snowflakes on the ground
Bleeding torpid roses as their ears were filled with sound.
Lucifer and Wyrda burnt the skies that gave them birth,
Each armed with armies mortal, no consequence or worth.
 
The world lay in ashes, no mortal breath to dare
The violent churning hatred that gods and demons share.
Each drew blades and struck them leaving not an inch of berth,
The fury lay between them, as snow fell on the earth.
 
Wyrda proved the stronger, leaving corpses in the ash,
Though stumbling down he saw it as he felt his goring gash.
‘Twas rage that brought him ruin, a silent edict, terse,
The empty darkness choking, and laughing with a curse.
 
Pouring all he had left into the flame of life,
Pure Alan and sweet Eva were born from his black knife.
Now free from gods and masters, they sang with their own verse,
No fate for mortals fearing, the dark and nothing worse.