Prostrate oneself before him, the serpent's venom is naked pain
without death, without evasion,
spreading expeditiously as the shadow of the unlight grows,
this profane, pernicious putrefaction hiding
every judgment, every radiance that withstands
to challenge the incarnate behemoth.
Shattered and annihilated underfoot,
the sun withers and the world splinters
in a torturous pang of unadulterated abhorrence.
Bent on hellish delusions, the vilest acts
and rituals are executed,
out of the sable pit will be spawned Mabus.
He shall taint all things holy and sacred,
Faith is dissolved in the dark poisons of his unsoul,
and mountain ranges degenerate into powdered blood.
Temples of torment will arise,
he will formulate weapons of pain,
and become the omnipotent one,
nobody dare behold his unmasked face.
Seeking death, havoc, war, famine, holocaust
Pre-eminent Disaster.
The Ouroboros is at its inevitable dark undertaking,
wrapped unbreakably around uncountable souls.
The end approaches, also the beginning,
the inchoate circle of the Ouroboros's toxin is ageless,
yet all eternity is engulfed,
as he confidently constricts the future,
binding, beguiling and controlling all fate.
Pray you never see the night of dread,
when Paris is swallowed in the living fire,
as the Ouroboros starts devouring,
and the evil design is accomplished.
Pray that I'm wrong.
Out of living fire there emerged a paradise.
Mark Snellgrove
8 August 1996