Atrophic Nature Of Mine Shall Someday Change Course Poem by Christopher's Dead

I perceived a beast that could not be named,
In thy accursèd nature wh’ art not be tamed,
For this beast be shown with such beauteous flair,
May those mortals be damned who not did dare
To attempt to defile with thine worst intentions
Of glory and wonder in thine first pretention,
Contrast aims of others signed to selfless intent
To defile the beast without signs of repent,
On the fence did I lie with my weakest force
That I brought to defeat in my sorest discourse,
To myself hath I previous stole in converse
Of the death of a monster in blood ‘t shall submerse,
Take aim, ready, fire, thus I did swift in skill,
It was the beast from my nightmare I tried so tough to kill,
And a fight so enduring, eons seemed did thou last,
Matching might with might, in skill did not contrast,
But in aim did we two poles of thine Earth gap,
If the beast be like Lucifer surely not did thou wrap
Of my brain I be any more pleasant than it,
Though reiterate verity closer on th’ fence I sit,
And we clashed and we brawled in light and in dark,
Soon enough bodies covered in wounds awf’ly stark,
Be it true that I tired far faster than that
Beautiful tireless monster with a final bat
It did defeat me in my humbl’st moment of shame
And embarrassment, for I thought the beast could be tamed,
But did not I die, no far be it from truth,
For I live to tell of the fight with a beast uncouth,
Not a fortnight, not of morrow shall I strike well again,
But the beast hath not killed me, when we fight, not ‘til then,
Shall I fully destroy what God tempted me with,
Victorious I will reign, the beast will take back its scythe.