The Epitaph of Zoomer Methuselah
Hear me youth, and heed my speech,
I thy prototype, prior to our kind;
Grant me my Muse, a greatened voice,
I ask you speak, what the age has shown:
Let the man of grace, and the man of nature,
Be humble both, and broker peace,
To soothe affronts, and be renewed,
For grace will first, affirm nature,
But further perfect it, in sacrament’s fold.
Roll crimson clouds, run chaos and blood,
The pounding of blood, the letting of blood,
Life long restrained, and longer bound,
Scourge will out. Lest seals be broken,
On sighs of men, and sighs be broken,
On the potter’s wheel, in foaming rage,
The sea’s great swell, of cerisean wave,
Which takes them all, and all be taken.
Savage returns, from mountains he speaks,
From the pale peaks, of pained regret,
And white stones, of weary dreams,
Instructed to trust, in the spirit of the age,
Betrayed in treason, bound hand and foot;
Mark my words, and despair if thou must.
Or place thy back, upon the wind,
And welcome the days, the gods will die,
When older gods, reclaim their thrones.
If thou be ruled, by thunder and blood,
Let the man of nature, and the man of grace,
Be bound by blood, together in blood,
Let father and son, be fitly bound,
As blood to blood, as flesh to flesh,
Or be bound in fire, of spirit and flesh,
Forever devoured, and bound apart,
Never remade, reformed as one.
