The Blood On Satan's Sword

They gather in congregation.
Their prophet wired into their core.
To avoid, and yet, to conquer.
The blood on Satan's sword.

They are the modern virtue.
The wax shaping onto the floor.
Solidified to overcome.
The blood on Satan's sword.

And as they all embraced their symbol.
It's fear encased within their mental.
All saintly men have cowered and trembled.
At the blood on Satan's sword.

They say we'll all be torn asunder.
If we don't fear the darkest thunder.
Then we'll face the infernal slumber.
And taste the blood on Satan's sword.

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poem by Aaron Lynn
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Minor Breathing

If only you could see.
What lies behind these fragile eyes.
The knowledge of these tears.
The reason I seem malign.

See, I was never prideful.
And forever, I felt scorned.
One's silence may seem frightful.
When he bows his head forlorn.

Knowing I've never fully triumphed.
Any chaos I have fought.
I cracked my blade in battle.
A repair that can't be bought.

Not pessimistic, nor of naught.
I just see things as they are.
That's probably why I can't believe.
How I've made it this far.

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poem by Aaron Lynn
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Repulsion

I've tried to improve myself.

To outlast the pain and transcend.

Oh, time is the greatest witness.

And I know I cannot win.

I'm weak and I devour.

The sustenance I can find.

I'm stressed and I can't control.

The length I consider the line.

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poem by Aaron Lynn
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All I've Done

I stare into the glass.
I see no answers there.
The frost has settled in.
Once again...

I remember when.
The angels weren't in flames.
Now those fallen scream incantations.
Destroying me.

I have strengthened the right hand of God.
Yet somehow kissed the cheek of the beast.
Now the gates have closed in fear of me.
I wait, but hear no applause.

For the love of life, I'll smile.
For love unfelt, I'll cry.
The peace of completion enslaves us.
Your heart has no rights.

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poem by Aaron Lynn
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Rehdrimer's Influence

Obedient and fiendish.
Is the priest that chants the pages.
Hooded summoners of evil.
Ah, a seance for the ages.

We await the final verses.
With sheer terror in our chests.
But we're aware, yes, we expect!
Debauchery shall infest...

'Rehdrimer! Rehdrimer!
Arise with your hate!
Rehdrimer! Rehdrimer!
Bring man to his fate! '

The earth explodes, as do our hearts.
As that sickening form ascends.
Armless, legless, bleeding head.
Intending human's end.

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poem by Aaron Lynn
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The Temple Falls

Holiest elder of Rehdrimer!
We invoke the wrath of the dead!
Our legions shall rise from the pits of the earth.
To mangle the emperor's head.
Invading our grounds with violent intent.
But we strike back with double the force.
Forbidding our worship? We forbid their breath!
Behind the black walls of the North!
Though their numbers increase, and their will gaining strength.
And they're pinning us to our own walls.
I see a soldier slip past me, straight into the ghastly.
And ominous Rehdrimer's Hall!
These ebony towers are only sustained.
By what lies in that hall of the grim.
Beyond that rising red mist, a lost being exists!
A statue, a figure of Him!
The soldier unmoved by the stare, that of doom!
From the effigy centering the hall.
Unsheathing his sword, blessings all to his Lord.
His mistake shall be fatal to all.

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poem by Aaron Lynn
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Downfall

Everyday you knock him down, anger gradually builds.
Beyond his weak exterior, malicious plots of of revenge.
You assume that constantly teasing him wouldn't tap into his sanity.
And you assume there's no consequence, but here is the possible reality.

All of the laughter has gotten to his head.
A once peaceful mind now flooding with hatred.
Satan suggests that he dismantles the building of the ones causing him torment.
So he enters the school the very next day armed with an Uzi.

Bullets end lives for every time someone kicked him while he was down.
And he doesn't stop and think about who is innocent or not.
The panicked screams remind him of the sound that was echoing in his mind.
His paranoia brings them all to death, insanity defined.

After the massacre, he sits down trying to comprehend what he has done.
The timid child now shining through, 'what have I become? '
He's soulless and cold, nothing promising in his future at all.
So he puts the gun to his head, and proclaims his downfall.

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poem by Aaron Lynn
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The Helping Hand

You benefited my existence.
Revived my inner blissful flame.
With heartfelt intention.
I made it my mission.
To save you from all of your pain.

Trying to assist, remove misery's brand.
Showing the purest, the truest of love.
So I lent you my hand.
The so-called haven of my hand.
the same hand you said fit like a glove.

Slowly unsheathing your sinister knife.
Brought by despair and sick ideas implanted.
Such a reluctant drawn knife.
Bringing panic and fright.
To a mind that was once so enchanted.

Still reluctant, you dig that foul blade in my hand.
For your arm is controlled by the merciless master.

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poem by Aaron Lynn
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