The Ritual War Of The Immortals Poem by ENOCH AANU OJOTISA

The ritual continues in the temple;
scourging heat of the incense burning from the pot,
the sacred pot of the spirits,
enlightening the dim eyes of the priest
and in tears of fear,
calling out messages of grave course.
A great work for the people,
yea! the gods are chained to silence;
none of them could whisper an answer now in his presence...
heavens are kept shut and the sons of Eledumare are sad...
yes, I witnessed the scuffle of the immortals...
the arch-angel rises to challenge,
soldiers of I AM silenced with bitterness;
here he comes, tip-toeing and leaf looking...
but alas! he grabs the scroll and holds it tight...
like a thunder lightening, he loosened the scroll....
AH! the skirmish is ended by the PRINCE OF GLORY!
Alas! I see him covering his garment in shame,
he's entangled in the covet of his eternal damnation...
he's finally lost it...
from an arch-angel now to arch-prisoner...
anon my lord...I've been charged to hand the LUCIFER to prison...
Now the heavens know peace...
the rituals of the seven lamp stands continue to burn as of old...
I AM rises with a glorious turn and makes the lamb a king in place;
and I the dutiful witness,
he made his courier.