Occidental Horror — Chris Moore

That job he had, it bought him years.

Post War years lived for pleasure.

But how could he know?

From what he knew, for what he knew they taught him.

Never that which came in days, those days called Christendom.

Instead he is to bask in sin, this Occidental horror.

It truly was once Christendom.

Not darkness.

Not pride.

No of course not that no more,

We don’t accept it we’re enlightened.

No, Triumphal, Sacrilege.

Christendom, the shameful;

Bane of days.

Live bowed now to your masters,

Face the terraforming pirates.

To breed or not, but share your seed,

Not spare, for pleasure.

We’ve got new use.

They gave new use,

And taught us what we ought not know.

Is the blame not mine?

Yet ours to share in shame together.

The children we didn’t,

Or cancelled.

The dusts of corruption accrued.

The sacrilegious.

The rape of Her children,

Once linked as beads on the Rose.

By what right to rewrite,

To splice the Word with the words of them?

By what right to rewrite and blend the Word with the words of men?

At least talk as if it’s true.

For the greater glory of the Old Man,

Man of Sin, lawless for your nature,

Whose hermeneutic is obfuscation,

Whose obfuscation is hermeneutic:

The operation of error,

Or not to recognize.

Dissolve the truth, to usher in the turning,

Usher in the burning,

Usher in the man unearthed,

That aboriginal horror.

In light of what?

For Frankfurt, or silent apostasy.

The gloaming reins of hell they’ve wrought,

“New Advents” evangelized.

Dreams re-wrote the undreamed man,

But failed to re-cast the clay.

And still they stump, for subtler re-revolutions,

For conjured evolutions,

Obscure, as not to know what came before,

Forever.

But in what name?

By what right to rewrite,

To splice the Word with the words of them?

By what right to rewrite, and bend the Word to the words of men?

In the name of you,

Not

Father, Son and Holy,

Holy Ghost.

Which unpardonable act,

Spirit of sin, dance of age, talk to liturgy,

Now baptized in the name of the sin, and the father of death, and you

His children, re-mastered.

We all now know what you have untaught,

Cancer unbound; aboriginal horror;

The dialogue delusion.

For you never taught, but to buy his years

To shine to chrome to gleam, (the years he lived for pleasure)

But how could he know?

From what he knew, for what he knew you taught him.

Never that which came in days, those days called Christendom.

Instead he is to bask in sin, now Occidental horror.

Not an accidental virus,

But an unimagined perfidy that stalks across the land,

And sucks the marrow from our bones,

And curses: innocence be damned!

Yet light never ceased in water’s love.

The humble mourn, not dying.

See it glimmer there, the Truth unbound,

To descend as once ascended.

See it glimmer there, the Flesh unbound,

In waters’ love baptized.

See it glimmer there, the Word unbound,

In the Orient it rises, and rises.

See it glimmer there.

To the Orient turn to meet the rising

And kneel.

Image attribution: ManInTheMist http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/File:Abandoned-amusement-park-in-detroit-mi--17610.jpg