Lordd – Canto I

In the moment of mornings when the Immortal Night haggles

The Breaking Dawn for time, a spawn of man; the good seed formed

Of their sweat and lust, the good seed borne in the likeness

Of the holy house is born from entrails and blood. 

In a moment Learned hands gather in frantic chorus, they exclaim 

In piercing screams to “Get ready! Get ready! He is coming!!”

When the gift of the gods is out, when the gift of the revered is freed 

From its fleshy binding they give praise to this new life. They give praise for this

Newcomer in the gathering of two legs. They chime and praise.

They welcome this new form in glee, this gift of life from the givers of life, 

They sing to those most high in hallelujahs. They welcome him

To the specie of supremacy, to the house of Gaia,

And their stream of thought lifts their praise in humming

Before their mercurial nature makes haste. “Hallelujah!” They hum before

They break out in loud hails that infect the anxious family. They mirror 

Their love to their masters; the fathers of their holy houses, the most 

Revered lords and saviours. 

They welcome the child with praise for their Lords in a booming chorus.

And every day they sway to it, they sway every day of that week until the seventh day, until when he is given his name. 

Again, learned hands gather in a frantic chaos to grant this holy gift a clan. 

They offer his birth rite, ask his eager parents, so proud and glowing, they ask them; 

“What shall We name him?” They ask them, so proud and glowing, 

They ask them; 

“Who does he look like, Our gifted ones, who?” they call to their

Fruitful children. They tell them;  “name him after your fathers.”

They beam and proclaim in glee. They decide;

“This is your name Child.” This is what the waiting ears want.

They lift him to the sky. They lift him to the gods,

Who are pleased with the child of their faithful. 

And as dawn releases it’s light unto darkness and the stubborn night sends champions

To hamper his rival; loud cackling that precede the flooding 

Of the sky and earth, claps and the numbing thumps of war that call the tempest. 

In all the chaos the child gets a name; 

A name too grand yet fitting the unforeseen.

A name too proud to revere Authority. 

A name that will regard the Chorus of the hands,

That will regard the chiming of the sect – of giving glory to the Lord,

As continuous depravity of power.

The name of the child is Lordd.

The child that lusts for Power.

The child that will challenge His God.

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Hitlebb

I am me. I am Me. I write when I want to be free.

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