He Rises
From the very heart of darkness,
the black oiled depths of
a million burning hates,
he rises.
Eight feet of burning,
livid flesh, stands, and
flexes his claws, red,
covered from the blood
of thousands of false lies.
He rises, the product of a
million years of pain,
fire, blood leaked from
faltered wounds.
His pain unbeknown to all,
his torment pales only to Jesus,
his hate and anger rivaled,
only by Lucifer himself.
And on nights when the moon
is full, and a scream, a scream
of violation from a pure soul,
he rises.
Standing alone, the devilish prodigy
of lost dreams and slaughtered hopes,
he rises.
From hate, to only more,
he rises.
Beware,
he rises.