Witch Finder - Archivist

I recognise

These facets

The pupil dilates

And exposes

The black language enfolded

His eyes lids marked with

Fevered hexes

Hexadecimal interfaces

Your god is binary, one of two

He speaks in forked tongue as do you

In the kind of dulcet words

In the violent ire and stubborn hiss

I must look elsewhere

In the vagrant time

For the purulent thoughts

Of a devil’s design

I must not let it fester!

This splinter rests and distresses

I strain to free it from my sight

This shard, this wretched blight

I lash at skin already bruised

For my love of him is the truth

Oh god!

Do not forsake!

How I try to do your bidding!

My sins are only that I cannot see

Every malady

Hands bide, and hands bend

Work each knotted sinew

Wrench the apoplexy

And make with it blessed things

I make use of the divine

And mark the dank anaemic skin

Cut away damnations teat

So no foul familiar can satiate

Flames will lick this corrupted flesh

Clean to the marrow where he rests

The blemish of desired clench

That rends the gore of earth

Wretched wings of blackened things

Cast spells of evil’s eloquence

Tamed to heel with thine perfect word

Listen hard and listen well

I see the forbidden in you

The yearn of wanting fingers

Hands that reach yet withdraw

The living breast, feign to abhor

Oh why do you tempt me Lord!

This test is that which I abhor!

Do not let me look upon

These evil things with regret or lust

For they are seated next to him

The lowest and darkest thing

And I am beside you!

Upon the seat

Of golden light!

And yet the rope and knot

Raise the bile from your stomach

You feel ashamed beside the zeal

From which you draw your wrath

What is it that you see?

That courts the hand to reach

And stay the burning flame

To both condemn and covet?

These guiltless strays

Fiend reveal thyself!

Do not question, do not tempt

My weakest notions

I work the will of my lord alone

I respectfully decline

Yet seek the seed of the divine

Your route is marred by obstacles

Of malice and malady

These tools cannot perform

An act to coax the breath of God alone

To assimilate his design

His article of faith with mine