A Serenade for A Preacher

He went down the rabbit hole
In search of love and found desolation.

She breathed when all hell burned,
Buried beneath the soil of heaven. 

The mask of death sang for them

A serenade of fate and sacrifice
To create the objects of death’s despise,

To explore the realm of sense within.

Was it love? Was it a lie?

Was it the symphony sung by

The body of his beloved?

A song of faith to the crown,

To let mercy carry him down,

While youth chose grace in sleepless nights,

And danced with blasphemous nights,

This thin immutable veil,
of heavy guilt and despair,
of war and peace eternal,

Is nothing but ignorance.

The rhythm of this hymn,

In the kingdom of heaven
Is a peaceful nightmare.

Dead men walk with devotion.

Lonely seers with their hearts broken 
As reapers see through visions
Of her dying light, a mask, upon her broken masks, 

A form upon augmenting forms,
Deceivers, breathing in the lake of fire, 

Lost in the ruins of their sensual mire,

Caught in the concentric circle of desires, and

Cursed to damnation by the serenade of death.

The beautiful and the damned atone and repent. 

But death lurks near them,
In absolute silence and darkness.

In absolute horror,

Dead angels meet their maker
In the cursed mirror on the wall.

Antecedent to their eternal void within, 

Defeat rests there upon love.

Empty. 

Hollow. 

Purging. 

Spiralling.

Death sings a serenade of their greatest fall.
Death sings of faith, and like justice,
A storm flickers in their heavy hearts.
Preacher! Preacher! You, servant of god!

When the lovers burn, then light,
The absence of darkness, 

Will play its most deceitful game,

And through light, your whispers, will in darkness reign.

Sing, the foreshadowing of damnation.

The reflections in the holy water, through tears, represent 

The memories of unholy sensations.

With grinning faces, the guilty anticipate their trial.

Preacher! Preacher! You, servant of god!

Sink to the depths of your despair.

Disintegrate into the substance of death.

For death will greet you by a thousand cuts

When the river runs dry,
You will weep for the infidels.

The faithless sinners may find liberation
In the heavenly shade of your death,

Lest death drag them first
Through the ruins of hell for their betrayal.

And the mystical tune will lure them to the gate of heaven
And they will find it shut,

Where nature will be revealed to them
in the colour of their dusk.

For what they have done, who will repent?

Who will atone? Who will be chaste,
If there ever was such a thing as chastity?

He went down the rabbit hole

In search of love and found desolation.

He followed her there, though mistaken. 

Terrified, he retraced his footsteps,
Trapped in hell forever by death. 

And though he may not understand
What she did to him,

He shall one day transcend
Her desire for him.