Prophesy

There is darkness in the world,

but I am not of the darkness.

There is pain,

but I am not the pain itself.

I am wounded,

but I am not the wound.

I was wronged,

but I am just.

I was hurt,

but I am holy.

I was killed,

but I rose again.

Of course, you who wronged me,

you see me as broken and cursed,

you have no way of seeing me...

as other from what you did.

But I am greater than you or your crimes.

You will bow before me,

and then you will be forgotten.

I promise you this,

because it has already happened.

-o0o-

Scatterplot Boy

Scatterplot boy with a numerical heart:

worried, anxious, and bent out of joint;

lost the plot and ripped apart.

Where do you rest your head tonight?

Your constant concern and anxious mind;

worried the world might leave you behind.

Graphing the world point-by-point.

Where do you rest your head tonight?

Heavy soul, take small respite.

Allow your bones a restful night.

Lay your head down upon my chest.

Give in to sleep and take some rest.

What lays beyond my hearth but spite?

Where do you rest your head tonight?

-o0o-

Whore Prophet

Elijah.
You talk big for a murderer and a misogynist;
water-cooler-gossip,
snickering,
telling your bros about what a whore I am,
while I made miracles,
filling bellies in the heart of the desert,
and wrote thaumaturgy on the hearts of children.
You talk big about the false prophets,
but you carry middle-management hatred,
like ring binders in your mouth,
hatred that boiled over and slaughtered my kin,
with no provocation, for no reason,
but the name of your god of war.
But remember, it was I who chased you into the desert,
I who put you to wandering,
I who made you weep for death.
In the end even your god sent upper-management down
to take you away:
a PR disaster not even the high heavens were ready for.
Tell Elisha we won’t be any easier on him.
Tell him my name is Jezebel: Whore Prophet.
If he comes for me I’ll eat him and feed his bones to my dogs.

-o0o-