Prophet

Good has not triumphed, yet God is not dead
Although Heaven's ashes are now cooling;
For how can one triumph on a ground
Where soleley IT is ruling?
Where the Devil lies safely bound
In the strongest chains of death.
The Devil may have died before time
Solely because it only existed
In the form of good corrupted,
Tortured, bled and brutally twisted
Inside the molten lava of a volcano erupted -
From where still a grain of benevolence escaped.
And yet the world chooses to starve
Choking on its own darkened blood
For good is many times a lighter load
In its much hardened facade;
Though in infinity so broad
It cannot recieve the light of redemption.
What happened to intrinsec goodness?
On what far land and in what pain
Did chivalry envise its last dream,
And trill its last refrain?
Where are those pagan times supreme,
Free of sacrilege's plague?
Aye, those days are far gone, child,
Lost somewhere along the way
Along with Heaven's chosen few;
Yet against the rest I'll have no say:
For what is evil but the good in you
Drowning from lack of water.