“Laughing lions must
come to annihilate with laughter.” (Nietzche)
“The One enthroned in
heaven laughs.” (Psalm 2:4)
And the Lamb had been slaughtered in the place of the worms
Raw flesh on the altar, warm blood on the soil;
Dragon-teeth round scattered in the valley of bones:
White mementos of the War against the Dragon and the wolves.
But the exploits of the Lamb had been lost in the mist,
Clean forgotten by the worms who now worship the Beast.
And the tears out of heaven should have flooded the earth
For high towers of insolence relentlessly rising:
Their ominous shadows defile all the living.
Worms upon worms upon worms! To the heights
They ascend – cruel rabble – trampling one on another,
While the Lamb on the altar is despised and forgotten.
Though of old there are rumors that the Lamb is alive
There has been not a stir, and the blood – it has dried.
And the loathsomeness swelling and the darkness surrounding
Drove the heavens to screaming, and the screams – they were heard.
Now the Lamb on the altar from His slumber awakes:
And the fleece change to fur and the feet into rakes.
Claws of vengeance, fangs of judgment, righteous hunger for his prey;
At the lightest of His steps, mountains crumble and give way.
For the Lamb is now a Lion seeking whom He may devour:
Blazing like the golden lightning, burning with the lust for War!
Worms for breakfast for the Lion had He not been seized with laughter
(He had such a sense of humor He forgot about His hunger)
At a sight so misanthropic – it was tragic, it was funny:
Worms and worms, from fear and envy, building towers in a hurry!
Now the onslaught of His laughter spelled the creatures’
Wormish towers all a-crumbling at the Lion’s sonic booms.
And the writhing worms of Wasteland knew that Nemesis had come:
‘Twas the fury of His laughter that had spoiled all their fun.
And their eardrums were all shattered, and their towers were in ruins,
And their hearts had all stopped beating, and the carnage had begun.
And this was the Final Judgment … In the ages still to come
Men will ponder o’er the ruins and the paw prints on the sand
Which the Wind itself could not erase however hard it blew.
There were terrors then unheard of, there were secrets no men knew:
“Why do heavens roar with laughter, why are clouds as white as fleece,
Though some streaks of golden lightning ride the cool, infrequent breeze?”
Men shall ask but not remember what the heav’nly symbols mean,
For the knowledge of these myst’ries had been drownéd in the din
Of a multitude of voices babbling nothing to the point:
Jagged edges, broken perches – everything is out of joint!
No direction, one obsession – that’s to rise at any price:
Worms on worms (this sounds familiar) building towers to the skies.
Crackling thunder in the heavens (Someone’s laughing in a hurry):
“Wow! I never thought a re-run would be more than twice as funny.”
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