e u p h o r i a

rmeisel:

the story starts like this:
you’re six years old
and your father tells you about the burden your brother has to bear
you watch the slaves build temple after temple
on their broken backs and bloody eyes
when your mother calls your name you turn around
and leave

the story goes on like this:
you look at the man you call father
and watch the shadows the fire casts upon his face
he takes you in his arms
and he calls you son
and says
they were only slaves
you run as fast as your feet can drag you
but his words echo like poison off the walls

the story continues like this:
your brother takes the throne
he was always destined to do so
you send the plagues with God’s will
until he breaks, until he yields
once you thought the chance to make him laugh
was all you ever wanted
now, when the slaves bleed you bleed as well
it leaves stains on your skin

the story ends like this:
you court Death and God and both make you their prophet
they call you scourge and sword
and you play the part well enough
the slaves are free

Ashira l'adonai, Ki ga'o ga'a

you watch your brother fall
silent
like rain over ruins

Lost Relics
r.m | published in Cadence | buy me a ko-fi

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