The Sorrowful Revelation Poem by Pedro Cescon

Pale souls, Tainted!
Painted of the silky pallor of ignorance...
No!
Back!
Stop!

The Sorrowful and Cryptic Ballet
Starts over and over and over and over...
Dancing to chords long lost
Of a dance of absurd imaginary,

Painting the present with long shed blood
Dried on the marbles of the temple,
But heated and vivid on the mind;
Boiled by those in command,
That fail at seeing they themselves
Are the very ones being controlled...

They are the Puppets of Phantasms...

Believing their absurd control of absurdities
Is so well conceived as a champion
That should as well be a truth...

Lieges of a Kingdom
That, through the middle term,
Reigned as of pain
And was later reborn,
As the very fabric
Of the brains of the fearful,

Then the kids past that days
They weren't the raped anymore,
They were the corrupted,
By a truth that could so well be a lie,
As any of the others it condemned

As any of the others it burned on the stake...

We were servant and obedient,
To a king of impatience and rage,
That so suddenly converted, as the love
Of the passions of the then young ones...

An ethereal and ancient joke,
Barely consistent then,
Incredibly unbelievable now
Yet so offensive and cruel,
That saps the life of any other belief,
Ever to arise...

Leaves no choice or peace, out of the stipulations,
Under rules written by men... to men...
And directly wounds deeply
The very concept of freedom,
The human beings would so gladly enjoy,
Should they ever realize it so