A corpse lies upon a white, stained sheet within the recesses of a military hospital. The corpse is small, the size of a child. What remains of the corpse’s features, however – the sharp angled lines, the bearded face – make it evident it was once a gnome. One would have to be astute to surmise that.
The skull had been split wide open, as if from immense pressure from inside the brain cavity. Brain matter and coagulated blood oozed out through every orifice and crack, the eyes having burst out of their sockets. The buzzing of flies belied the maggots that had set into the rotting tongue and throat.
A lean, wan figure stoops over the corpse.
The lean figure appears undernourished, ribs and spine protruding through stretched skin, noticeable even under the vestments it wears that drape over the figure like oversized funerary sheets. It holds a rosary tightly in its boney hand, muttering phrases in Latin as it traces patterns over the beads repetitively, oblivious to its surroundings, as if in a trance. As the figure’s voice becomes audible, the mutterings become more lucid.
“Proverbs 27:22 saist ‘Though thou shouldest bray a fool in a mortar among wheat with a pestle, yet will not his foolishness depart from him.’ You were such a fool, D. P. But an honest fool you were to the end.
Only a fool says in his heart
There is no Creator, no King of kings,
Only mules would dare to bray
These lethal mutterings.
Over darkened minds as these
The Darkness bears full sway,
Fruitless, yet, bearing fruit,
In their fell, destructive way.
Sterile, though proliferate,
A filthy progeny sees the day,
When Evil, Thought and Action mate:
Breeding sin, rebels and decay.
The blackest deeds and foul ideals,
Multiply throughout the earth,
Through deadened, lifeless, braying souls,
The Darkness labours and gives birth.
Taking the Lord’s abundant gifts
And rotting them to the core,
They dress their dish and serve it out
Foul seeds to infect thousands more.
‘The Tree of Life is dead!’ they cry,
‘And that of Knowledge not enough,
Let us glut on the ashen apples
Of Sodom and Gomorrah.’
Have pity on Thy children, Lord,
Left sorrowing on this earth,
While fools and all their kindred
Cast shadows with their murk,
And to the dwindling wise,
They toss their heads and wryly smirk.
The world daily grinds to dust
Virtue’s fair unicorns,
Rather, it would now beget
Vice’s mutant manticores.
Wisdom crushed, our joy is gone,
Buried under anxious fears
For lost rights and freedoms,
We shed many bitter tears.
Death is life, Life is no more,
Humanity buried in a tomb,
In a fatal prenatal world
Where tiny flowers
Are ripped from the womb,
Discarded, thrown away,
That barely bloomed.
Our elders fare no better,
Their wisdom unwanted by and by,
Boarded out to end their days,
And forsaken are left to die.
Only the youthful and the useful,
In this capital age prosper and fly.
Yet, they too are quickly strangled,
Before their future plans are met,
Professions legally pre-enslaved
Held bound by mounting debt.
Our leaders all harangue for peace
Yet perpetrate the horror,
Of economic greed shored up
Through manufactured war.
Our armies now welter
In foreign civilian gore.
How many of our kin are slain
For hollow martial honour?
As if we could forget, ignore,
The scourge of wealth and power,
Alas, victors are rarely tried
For their woeful crimes of war.
Crimes are legion,
The deeds of devil-spawn!
What has happened to the souls
Your Divine Image was minted on?
They are now recast:
Crooked coins of Caesar and
The Whore of Babylon.
How often mankind shuts its ears
To Your music celestial,
Mankind would rather march
To the anthems of Hell.
If humanity cannot be reclaimed
By Your Mercy and great Love
Deservedly we should be struck
By Vengeance from above.
Many dread the Final Day,
And the Crack of Doom
For others the Apocalypse
Will never come too soon.
‘Lift up your heads, be glad’,
Fools shall bray no more
For at last the Master comes
To thresh His threshing floor.
The world loves to be amused by hollow professions, to be deceived by flattering appearances, to live in a state of hallucination; and can forgive everything but the plain, downright, simple, honest truth.
The truth is that humanity is a vile stain upon creation, and the merciless Old Ones that I have born witness to shall wipe the stain clean, and the blood from the slaughter shall runneth like wine from the pressing of the grapes of their wrath.
Isaiah 6 saith: ‘I saw also the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up, and his train filled the temple.
Above it stood the seraphims: each one had six wings; with twain he covered his face, and with twain he covered his feet, and with twain he did fly.
And one cried unto another, and said, Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord of hosts: the whole earth is full of his glory.
And the posts of the door moved at the voice of him that cried, and the house was filled with smoke.
Then said I, Woe is me! for I am undone…for mine eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts.’
Woe be to us all when that inevitable day arrives.”