Without a doubt, the tomb lay empty;
a sacrificial duty – inflicted by the pains of youth.
His tortured flames defied smothering.
The embers kept watch o’er the darkest of nights,
as the red Moon refused to warm;
Its knowledge within eclipsed
by the reality of traceable abandonment,
untouched by the whims of existence.
The Forever Man bade farewell to his namesake,
and retraced the backward runes
pressed into the dust of empty footprints.
Reading the tell-tell signs of endless duration;
thin-skinned and wailing to a beat heard only by the Initiate,
Adam’s dance with the devils commenced.
A flourish of dervish dignitaries shoveled their dead weight,
and the womb filled the tomb with silent emptiness.
The person who was:
offered up, crucified, and stricken from The Book!
The Father, robbed of a sire, snapped back in vain and cried.
The Son, soon forgotten under a spell of words unspoken,
only to fall into eternity;
twice-born to the third degree;
appalled in a measure of good and evil.
Once cut and quartered, the demons hungered,
sweating out the blood of ancestors made from clay.
We waited for their sacred cup of death to dry.
The spectres bled and damned the Light.
All reminders – worthless now,
in the face of Satan’s might.
Nothing new under Earth’s old star, nope.
Nevertheless, from this day forward,
nothing new, spelled backwards
shall mean nonetheless to you!