concealed by the overgrowth, refusing to be washed clean of its many sins.
The taste of blood & rust akin.
Under the wing of decomposition;
Having been in the keeping of corrosion, risen.
The signs of revelation weather uncovered
no tombstone for the anointed.
No sigil, nor standard left to ward off the golden beast
of abandoned Gods,
whom poisoned the cup once they heard of the exodus returning,
turned back by thirst.
"Welcome! Here, I have for you freshly burnished blade.
Now, before you drink, prove to me your loyalty."
On honour's head is the horror.
This will be violence worth viewing;
Perched high with no chance at leaving evidence of perpetration on the hilt.
A point of vantage that takes only one to bless as hallowed.
And just one more yet to desecrate with malevolent smile and the devious steel.
Self proclaimed impunity stokes the self as
but in through the eyes of others, not quite the same as before.
A profane testament to the stoic and relentless resolve.
Breed seething insolence,
the disciplined progeny take on their father's war.
Then bury the blade,
until it's needed once more.