The world is cursed. Ever since its infant eyes opened, the Gods have shuddered in their thrones. Here is a world beyond their reckoning - the cosmic cradle swaying in winds of fate, destiny's child.
The oracles congregate.
[[`And` they speak in fear.|birth of man]]There were many Gods. Gods of clay, of wind, of fire. Of love and death. All have reigned in harmony, the balance tipped by destiny's hand, as it were. The king of Gods stands. With each step, in the palace of heavens, following him in his shadow are whispers of greed and malice disguised in praises. Even the Gods aren't exempt of man's darkness. Yet they persist for without them, man is lost. And without man's devotion, they are ravings of the unhinged.
[[The heavenly war ended as the books foretold.|man of power]]The palace vaults hiss like molten sword tempered in boiling water. The battles raging on. If the heavenly crusades were to stop, man would forget. In his forgetfulness, his land will burn, his family raped and butchered. Man will not abide by chaos. He will kill. He will flay the skins of seekers - the suffering try to forget a past stretching aeons, boroughing underground - forever hiding from a new man's Sun. And all this time the powerful man laughs "no shelter!"
He will force order as if reenacting some Darwinian odyssey, demented and self-indulgent. A multitude of throats barely find a slit to breathe.
[[//`And` the Gods became fearful of men.//|no god without man]]
[[The heavenly war ended as the books foretold.|man of power]]The spheres ordained each others creation. A commune of incestual beginnings. In his perverted desire to be God, he imitates His beginnings. The man of power stays in power through purity of his kind. No shelter to the trodden. No greed to face Justice - her eyes are gouged and replaced with the faintest memory of His image, her ears listening only her hums. Half truths and forgotten lies thus become the wheels of man.
[[The River|the river]]Man will create his own heaven
And man will dream of God's fall.
Man will dream none but one dream
And make of God a dead mortal.
AND NOW THE GODS DO NOT OBJECT FOR MAN HAS DONE THE DEED.
CAME TO PASS AS THE ORACLES HAD PROPHESIED - GOD HAS NO TONGUE, GOD HAS NO TONGUE.In death, the innocent mix their blood with a forgiving river. The river accepts. The river allows passage where there were none. The river is the ultimate teacher. She remembers everything and in her lucid travels she lays down the truth to one who listens, never flaunting to the one who doesnt.
In her years she has become old and decripit. The black empire of man exhausts her pace. There even she begins to distort her memory. Finding a filigree of etchings where remained a single truth, a single Word.
One should strive to free the river of its poison. The tainted waters only flow and leave a miasma of silence burdening. She even forgets your face, showing back a cloudy mist where your knowing eyes would have been.
[[If that charcoal sooted reflection were to speak`,` it'd say`...`|god has no tongue]]