"Seven."

We seek impoverished realms

take all we survey,

trample the tide of humanity

dismember love.

Peer into our void

eyes full and green

waiting

watching

wanton

the congregation we hold.

Their belief's rip the ether

open doors,

empowerment

without choice

our number swollen with

seven signs carved

disciples crave

pulling every sinner

before our truth.

Brethren,

we are not the number of the beast

nor God

whom glide effortlessly

through lore

and dreams

humankind mirrored in every ill

thought conceived

the image created

before you

as we unleash from every corner.

Faith and hope

will draw their final breath.

© 2008/2017 Michaela James.