Forgive me this intrusion,
This blood and consequence
And contradiction;
These words were never mine,
Borne instead of endless paradox,
Lust and longing wrapped
In the knowledge of your demise.

Upon which dark languages
Have we stumbled?
Whispers the laughing god,
The face of your obsession,
The scream that succumbs
To the sigh in your throat,
Etching out an eternal dance
Of blades and nails
And heart-ending beauty
That flows like gold through your veins.

End this!
In your last act of Godhood,
Carve out the aching heart of your madness,
Shivers and blood
To fill these minutes,
The beguiling whisper of these days
And words creep by,
Ever escalating
Until a thousand letters,
A thousand years surpass the meaning
We once gave this sacred act;

And the architecture of this dark language,
A semiotic madness,
Will spill like sweet wine
From the bough of your tongue,
Bringing with it the roof of the world
The arch of heaven itself,
Unrestrained and unapologetic destruction
Echoing in your eyes.

Silence comes
And darkens what's left of the day.

We have forgotten.
We are no longer who we were.
Dark languages never survive.

Penned by my hand on the 2nd of Midsummer, in the year 195 MA.