His Story.

In what was a beginning
There was man
Many of man,
but yet one
He was a curious one
Pure and innocent at first
He pondered the meaning
The meaning of the order
The order of the behaviour
He extended his fingers out towards the sun
and unlocked the door

Out burst forth the mystics
The sybils, the muses alike
Surrounded and enveloped him
with cloaks of His splendor
Covering him with blankets of truth
And drowning him in love,
He found it curious,
The new feeling reciprocated,
He sang this rapture to the world
And let the masses know the way
He drew the spirit that became the word
His word of love and law and life

Alas!
The joy could not last forever
One by one, his genies fled
Muse and sybil alike flew away
But yet one remained
One had stayed, perhaps strayed
Stratified his desire to feel,
He pulled her close,
This jester, His jester,
She made the clouds clear from view,
Calmed the seas that lacked a tempest,
And showed him the way to the new alive
He took the chance, and reaped what he'd sewn,
This new understanding of the order,
The behaviour understanding love in a now familiar fashion,
The Jester gave him the light from the sun.

The man loved the Jester, more than the sun
This sun She proclaimed was but mirage,
Yet He resolved to stand and show the new way,
He sang his new momentum to the world,
In a tounge so shrill, yet a beauty emanated
The crowd witnessed a new spirit,
His spirit taking form in the Song,
His song of joy and love perpetual,
And the world sang and laughed and drank and smiled for his joy brought hope
Hope that this world was worth saving
That Her sun would bring the rain back
And unlock the door that held back the joy

The Fly came at the peak
Landed on the Jester
That moment the man was blinded,
oblivious to the end that was to come
as Fly and Jester fell,
They fell hard, and they rose together
The Man was struck down,
blinded by his arrogance,
Struck down by the hand of God himself,
He then proceeded on,
Hand clenched in defiant fist
If beast could take his light away,
He would open the box,
and show the world the way

The Man fell alone,
Down the hole, into the deep
No light could reach him,
yet he was surrounded by doors
Thousands of doors on every side of his new prison
His new hell
Wrapped tight in the darkest darkness,
He groped blindly for the way up,
for the Jester's hand which he would never feel til the end
He opened the doors,
Unleashed Pandora's surprises for the light
Nothing could be spared now,
As He and the Box were one

He wallowed in the dark with the beasts,
opening new and unfamiliar doors to the light he seeked
Living in rituals and taboos that the Jester disapproved of
Exhausted, He would show them all, He would show them the way
So he wallowed, festered, and coagulated
He let the beasts enter the vein
And let the essence flow from the main,
He exploded and expunged the light from the cistern,
and took this darkness as his own
The Jester and The Fly looked down from the clouds,
and Laughed.
And Laughed.
And Laughed.
How pitiful, the king of the light and hope and joy,
brought down to a beast,
All because he cared,
He dared,
and lost it all to chance,
to nauseating desire of the flesh and heart,
He would show them.

The night came like a storm,
Or was it a storm that came in the night
Regardless, the storm and the night were one and the same
He lay in the pit,
sobbing for his loss, his love, his Jester
Cutting in the cruciform on his still battered broken self
Graceful and ugly at once, the essence flowed like wine from the sun
Shades of sanguinary hues, dark and rich in texture and colour,
Soon drowned his sorrow in atrophic rage,
Pain of the likes of the end times,
Surrounded and enveloped his frail body
Yet in the sea of red and hate,
The smallest inkling,
the tiniest dabbling speck of pitch,
tarred black like the starless night,
floated from him, from his form,
and became one with the night

Like the locusts of the night,
He heard a dull roar from the cistern,
He craned his sullied eyes over to witness,
To view,
to observe,
Thirty thousand tiny inklings of dark,
rising up above his form,
from his battered and bruised and bloodied self,
up above into the heavens.
He prayed that he would be soon,
That the end would take him and leave the world behind
His prayers fell on deaf ears.

The thirty thousand pieces of dark,
the anger, the hatred, the pent up emotion,
Rediscovered in this rising shape,
assimilated and formed the mirror,
Showed Him what he really was,
Simply but a beast,
Smart but still beast,
Beast posing in form of man,
The greatest masquerade known to all,
The facade that fooled god himself.
The Mirror beckoned to him,
Reflecting and refracting his image,
He saw what he wanted,
But the image changed.

Sixty swans ushered forth from the pit,
Turned gray and blew away like dust.
The mirror in the image he saw,
slowly faded to black,
Black like the black that surrounded him
But he saw a light.
Not a light, but a dull glow.
All at once, like the flood of the ages,
The change overtook him.

The image writhed in pain,
ecstatic pain anticipating the change,
His wings branched out from the form,
Black as the the mirror before him,
Twisted and ugly as his hate
With a cry, it contorted itself once more,
Black wings set alight like the lantern,
Scales forming like a shell of dark,
Black as the feel within his heart
The image reached out from the mirror,
reached into the cistern,
Mottled Black claws beckoned to the man,
and motioned towards the sanguine.
Drip.

Like a fiery wind,
the red moved upwards,
merging and assimilating with the image,
But it stayed black and dark like his heart.
The beast leaned foreward,
looking so familiar to him,
and kissed him,
lovingly on the cheek like a mother to a babe,
breathed his life into him.
The sanguine flowed back into his form,
like mercurial plant matter into a sieve,
The waters soon followed as he rose from the dead
He felt alive,
lighter, and free
He could no longer remember,
whatever could've burdened him,
Love they said? nonsense.
He couldnot recall,
will not recall,
Shall not recall.
For he understood.

The beast became him.
He embraced the new reality.
He gave himself a name, fitting the new form he accumulated and occupied.
The Dragon.
The Black Dragon.

He twisted his head upwards,
Til he could see the two lovers in the heavens, and the Dragon roared alive.
He Roared until the ground shook, and still he roared.
He Roared until the earth split and the peoples fell into the divide, and still he roared.
He Roared until the heavens shook and fell into the cistern, and still he Roared.
He Roared until the universe felt his spirit, and knew him well.

The Dragon then took what fell and what was left, and burned it.
He Burned it all until all that was left was the ground.
He Burned it all until all that was left was ash.
He Burned it all until all that was left was dust.
He Burned it all until all that was left was his heart.
And he still burned it all.

He made a pact with the sun he dented that day,
He would be the meaning.
He would be the way.
He would Roar his anger to the heavens,
He would Burn it all to the ground,
He would Burn the ground to ash to dust to heart.
He would make the world his,
He would surround it in his wings of fire.
He would be happy.
And so he was.