The birth of a God,
Drawing a path of saffron jewels and nymphs,
covering the bloody land unfolding under his feet,
The static pulse of cheering in his ears,
Those who feared and hid for so long,
Pounding in his chest as he celebrates,
As he rejoices for his well deserved faith
Let if evolve, let it pray
Then let it burn, let it drag
The birth of a tyrant,
The one who carried their world on his shoulders,
Adored for a day, massacred the next,
Sincerely believing in the flames of their eyes,
The praises they sang for his simple breaths
Crushed under their unworthy, viscous words,
Stabbed by the arrogance of their thirst.
The death of a story,
And another will sit on his golden throne,
Drowning in the love of those he once fed,
He will stand, and build and share,
Until another giant enters the arena.
This is how Gods live and die,
This is the circle that will forever remain.
And they will live through the pages,
Teaching us their sordid lessons of humility.
But history is eagerly forgotten
When misery pulls every inch of your being,
This is when we will seek to create,
Another giant to be betrayed once more.