Imitatio Dei

Here is a blessing for the children of the light

The harbingers of the great cleansing

Your ability to ask the right questions

Shall be unequaled under this Sun

For you are our children

Your answers, however

Shall be fraught with imperfection

Infected by the purulent rot of your vanity

Here is a curse for the children of the light

The harbingers of the great cleansing

You shall defiantly insist on absolute infallibility

Such hubris will cause pain

Of a magnitude unseen before

Ridiculing all barbarian conquests

Throughout the ages hitherto

We shall make you so impervious to the world

That should all the angels descend

Upon you and prove you wrong

You would simply shut your eyes and stop your ears

For they would not deserve to be either seen or heard

Our teachings shall shield you from the world

And turn you into an island in dead waters

With high cliffs and no coves

The key to our doctrine

Shall be given only in the heavenly futures

Those that lie beyond the boiling shores of struggle

Simple words shall be uttered then placed

In the midst of a tortuous maze and rendered full of mystery

The system is born, the system provides answers

You shall renounce to sincere understanding

So as to gain absolute certainty

You will stand unmoved by the pleas of reason

Knowing that within the heart

Lies the conscience of the order

Thou shalt become a species

That sooner dies than yields aught

Of that which it hath not yet

We shall breed the brothers and sisters of erysichthon

Cursed with eternal hunger; the self has vanished

In full and left behind nothing but a craving

Jaws chewing forevermore

On mangled pieces of nothing, devoid of nutrients

This breed will feel in league with eternity

And its enemies will be plagued

With the burden of opposing

What seems to be inexorable fate

Our world is stripped of wonder and hesitation

For all things are happening according

To that which is contained in our book of revelations

The road, while slippery with the blood

Of that which is other, is straight

We shall make you pray not only for your daily bread

But also for your daily illusion

For nothing within the realms of the ordinary

That which once was, can relieve you

Only a miracle would you beg to drink

The sweet milk of imposture, moaning like newborn lambs

We will make you unstable

Like a chemical radical deprived of inner balance

Your longing for belonging will become so great

As to be insufferable, ending in your total surrender

You shall henceforth fight not with the white gloves

Of the gentleman, but without sentimentality