Then buried within the glory of the Lamb.
They both betrayed me; they both lied.
I cannot forget my past, my heritage,
My journey through sin.
My plan was foreseen
That I would secretly fade into the shadows
Once the Lamb was born
As my task was deemed complete.
They believed my disobedience would be buried.
They thought hiding the truth
Would serve me better than knowing.
They underestimated my pride.
My pride within my sins;
The pride within my demons
Of which they will never understand.
That pride was what killed the prophet.
That pride was what killed the banshees.
That pride will continue my legacy.
Frustration burned deep within my heart
As I was forced to watch the plan unfold,
Forced into a life of sin, bred for pain
And suffering for the purpose of human salvation.
My eyes bled with anger.
My ears burned with resentment.
My misery, all for the sake of the human civilization.
The Son would receive the glory
And rule the kingdom of Heaven.
I would serve as the failure,
A mere evilness one should avoid.
His path was foreseen,
Mine was not worth the look.
No banshee, no sin, no pain could remove the blackness.
To be an outsider, forsaken of the truth.
All I wanted was the return of my farmland,
The one that raised me;
The one that comforted me.
***
My head aches with passion;
My hands tremble with anticipation.
As hurt as I have become, I have never felt so alive.
Nothing hidden, nothing denied.
What lingers behind is my anger.
The wrath, the sin that began it all.
Fitting that it shall be my end.
The angels are near;
I can hear them carving through the caves.
No more tears will be shed.
My eyes are blistered and stained with hatred.
My mind is bent from all I have endured.
My body is scarred from the torture.
All for man.
If it was a real vision all along,
Then I will return to my farmland.
I will travel to Heaven to retrieve what is mine.
I will release my demons.
If I do not receive safe passage
Then I will forge a new path
Under the guidance of my blade.
I will kill as many angels as God sends.
I will not bow down and cower within the shadows.
I will walk amongst the humans
And infect them all.
If it is faith that created the plan,
Then I will corrupt it.
If it is belief that God seeks from man,
Then I will destroy it.
And if I should fail,
My death will only serve a higher purpose.
Much like the Lamb, I will prosper greatly
From a mortal death within the eyes of society.
Much like the Lamb, I will rise again.
I will collect the souls I had lost.
I will rebuild my kingdom.
May God help any angel within my realm.
May the Lord help any man I come across.
I will offer no mercy, I will offer no remorse.
I pray, not to God, not to the Son,
But to the blade of my scythe.
I pray that it is swift with death.
I pray that it is steady and concise.
I pray that upon my demise
That I am granted the strength to live on
Through the sins, through the deaths,
Through the struggles of mankind.
I pray that I alone
Will judge the weakened souls who sin.
I pray for the strength to never falter in my emotions,
To never doubt.
***
The angels have carved a tunnel to adjoin with mine.
Their fingers pry into the cave,
Pulling at the rocks to gain access.
They are tired of the darkness; they are tired of the dirt.
They long to be back within the blue skies.
Their eyes are disgusted with me.
Their anger is noticeable within every
Rock that they forcefully pull from the wall.
They want nothing more
Than to rip the flesh from my bones,
But that is not their task.
My capture is their order;
My delivery is their duty.
True servants of God,
They will not stop until they succeed.
Regardless of how many I cleanse within my realm,
There will always be more.
My beating heart will reach my land.
I will weather all storms in my way;
My death will only be within my farmland.
As the world slowly burns,
As the creation of God falls away,
As the once great human race
Slips from the graces of their Lord,
I will be there to provide understanding.
The angels stand before me now,
Hesitant in their postures.
They remain at a distance,
As God knows of my intentions.
Thousands wait within the narrow tunnel,
But only seven are present within my cave.
They have constructed a funnel for their demise.
To my quill, I pray for respect.
To my candle, I pray for acceptance.
To my scars, I pray for revenge.
To my wounds, I pray for forgiveness.
To my mind, I pray for understanding.
To my heart, I pray for peace.
To my blade, I pray for vengeance.
The angels remain still.
The flame of the candle dances upon their faces
As their eyes struggle with the darkness.
My existence is to be a lie,
A conjured tale to appease good.
Mankind will be easily deceived,
But I will always know the truth.
With a hand upon my scythe, it is time.
It is time to alter the paths of many,
To disturb the beautiful religion,
To acknowledge the evil within the world,
To justify my being and all that I have endured.
The staff of my weapon welcomes my palm.
My fingers press against the hardened wood.
The blade has severed many limbs,
Has crushed many bones, has reaped many souls
And still it emits excitement within the candlelight.
A pride no human can understand.
A pride God seeks from his followers.
A pride I created and fulfilled with my destiny.
I have what he desires; I have what his plan seeks.
He would have to sin in order to obtain it.
A crossroad built under his ruling,
A crossroad within Heaven itself.
A temptation for the almighty;
A chance for hesitation.
The choice that shaped my existence.
The choice that binds us all together.
The choice that forges our destinies.
To sin or not to sin.
Mankind will have a choice.
One leads to salvation, one leads to death.
Those who remain focused
Will stand before the Lamb.
Those who remain confused
Will stand before the Goat.
Regardless of the choice,
All will be judged upon the risin
g.
All will be filtered amongst the fields
Whether they are the golden wheat of Heaven
Or the decayed roots of Hell.
With my blade eager to rise,
My new fate awaits.
As the path of the angels ends,
Mine has just begun.
A path of death and despair.
A path that will lead me home.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
K. Trap Jones is an author of horror novels and short stories. With inspiration from Dante Alighieri and Edgar Allan Poe, he has a temptation toward narrative folklore, classic literary works and obscure segments within society.
His novel The Sinner (Blood Bound Books) won the 2010 Royal Palm Literary Award. Other books include The Drunken Exorcist (Necro Publications), The Crossroads (Hazardous Press) and One Bad Fur Day (Sirens Call Publications).
He is also a member of the Horror Writers Association and can be found lurking around Tampa, Florida.
The Harvester Page 15
