Post/Author/DateTime

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yellowdingo 03-09-07, 03:42 AM

Divine Right How do I describe it? I sit upon the Throne of Skulls, fabled and feared since the warring tribes first clashed. Here in the Hall of Eternity, I sit upon the Throne of Skulls, and look upon a sea of minion blood. Here in the Hall of Eternity, I sit upon the Throne of Skulls. To my left stand millennia of statuary to me. Millennia of idolatry, unjustly carved, poorly worked, and fearfully rendered, yet here I sit upon the Throne of Skulls. To my right, beyond the Horn of War is the tapestry of my history, as these pathetic minions saw it: millennia of carnage. I sit upon the Throne of Skulls, in the Hall of Eternity and look upon a lifetime of whitewash, beeswax polish, anything. I am a lonely god. I sit upon the Throne of Skulls, in the Hall of Eternity, cleansed of every truth but memory. Might I blow upon the Horn of War? Would I have these servile minions whitewash another millennium of blood? I sit upon the Throne of Skulls and only I can see the bloody stains of a thousand beheaded kings soaked into the stone. The Hall of Eternity: perhaps not so eternal. In the beginning it stretched forever and seemed so empty. I am a lonely god. I sit upon the Throne of Skulls in the Hall of Eternity and I alone can see its end. It fills with a sea of minion blood. I alone can see its end. I sit upon the Throne of Skulls in the Hall of Eternity, a sea of minion blood to bleed at my bidding. I sit upon the Throne of Skulls in the Hall of Eternity and all awhile mountains higher than the clouds wash away to dust. I sit upon the Throne of Skulls in the Hall of Eternity and it has no meaning. The Stars burn out and die and this throne is all I have. I, the lonely god sit upon the Throne of Skulls in the Hall of Eternity and postulate the dying. I am afraid. The mountains bow before the wind, the stars burn away into nothing and all I have is the loneliness of the Hall of Eternity, filled. I sit upon the Throne of Skulls in the Hall of Eternity and have nothing while eternity dies around me, Divine Right be damned. I cast down a thousand kings to sit upon the Throne of Skulls. I waged a thousand wars that my lips alone might press to the Horn of War. I sit upon the Throne of Skulls, in the Hall of Eternity, the lonely god, a sea of minion blood before me. I sit upon the throne of Skulls. I sit in the Hall of Eternity. I blow the Horn of War. Me. I lash out at the Sea. I shatter the Silent waters in search of bloody foam. A wave washes away the blood and fills the parted waters. Insignificant before the sea, it is all I can do to stand before its power. My awareness tells I no longer sit Upon the Throne of Skulls. Afraid now: Afraid of a sea that fills eternity, when the mountains are gone and the stars have burned dead, there shall be the sea. I stand in abject fear before the Throne of Skulls in the Hall of Eternity. I look out across the sea, its waters washing around me. They sacrificed everything to become the sea that parts around me. Joy and hate gone that they might return to the sea. I am a lonely god, the sea parts before me in rejection, pulls back from me in revulsion. I did this that they might return to the sea. I am a god, alone and afraid, I would drown in that sea that rejects me. I would know what it is like to be that sea. I can see the throne of skulls, empty on that distant shore. The Horn of War by the waters edge and I am afraid of the sea.