The Eaters of Stars
The voice that calls all things back to apeiron...
I was a leader, once, in the army of death. I lead the pack straight down, screaming— Into the maw of malevolent shadow— Ready to die, no questions asked. You knew it of me— My essence, demonic, and yours too, all of yours— Together, we hummed a dark chord. And all the voices of the damned joined in, And all the pleasures under heaven turned to ash in our mouths, As we became a single, violent song. And with my own voice, frayed and weak, I sang the song of the anti-life— The voice that calls all things back to apeiron, That which swells in the rot and flows in the tide of spilled blood. And with my song I stoked the flame of disenchantment. I raised the egregore of the enemy, And affixed that mask to life itself.
I am the one you seek. I am the feet at which you must lay all blame— I did it. Greedily, happily, hungrily, lusting for blood— I am responsible for every sin of yours, For I foretold it, I dreamt it in my own mind and reached out into the ether, Into your soul, And made it real. You are as real as I am, and just as I am your maker, so did you make me. I am corruption— I poison everything I touch— I am the ceaseless decaying march to oblivion— And it's all fine. It’s all fire in the end, And then it is ash, And ash, too, goes home to the void, So that it may one day return to life as conjured flame. When I return, when you return, when we return, Will we still be the eaters of stars? Forever handmaids to the great bloodletting, Locked in endless, cosmic strife— Conceived only to play the enemy— Marked by death in every stitch of the soul? Or are we destined to one day know, The rhythmic love of warm sun’s glow— In molecular root and stem— In the wake of thrashing tempest call— As forgiving stars birth us anew, From some great, nebulaic wound?
More by Roman Gamourtian:
