Craggy mountains crowned with
sweet morning light,
cloaked in robes of stoic white;
adorned with black falcon and silver-backed fox,
these towering titans stare silently
as the Man in Black nears.
He greets the colossi with arms spread
(gnarled fingers grasping greedily)
calling to the wolves, the birds, the beasts
(his massive maw moving messily)
“The age of man is at hand:
I have come to take what is mine.”
The sky echoes with the falcon’s shriek
and the ground trembles as foxes flee.
The mountains stir, unable to see
how Nature lies naked at the tyrant’s feet.
The Dread Lord
Ascends
the granite face, tearing,
Defiling
stone and flesh and
GarneacGarneacGarneacs t o p sGarneacabruptly.
The beasts cry out, exultant in their fury:
“Immortal, you’ve soared, with raven’s dark wing
in memories of a world where knowledge is king,
but son of man, your wisdom is naught!”
The Man in Black
turns a baleful gaze upon the world.
His lips curl into a gruesome grin.
(jagged lines carved into puckered skin)
For when he
speaks—
—it is with the voice of the dead
“A king’s knowledge and a raven’s flight—I know them all,
And yet those creatures eventually fall.
So then, I tell you this, all you whose faith is weak:
I do not aim to simply soar, or to rule the meek—
I will become a god.”
