Shrine

Wounds inflicted by one’s own blood,
Inflicted not by spite but by perpetual ignorance.

He who be at the mercy of such,
Shall yield a haven of torment and puns,
For he be not the devil himself,
But to reside with his apostles,
Be a fate fit for none.

Then shall it be decreed,
By the divine one himself,
From this day forth, the angels may kneel,
And the darker side shall prevail,
Like the sinister aura of a disturbing eclipse.

Then may the world ask of him,
No difference shall it make,
For the hour of contempt has paved way,
To a life of eternal anguish.

[Cluster I]