/lit/ - Literature

Another order, another exodus, another day
Outermarch along switchback trails and reddened clay
Past soft ponderosa pines and pinyon scruff
Up sheer pink palisades painted by God’s own brush
The enemy was not there, our newest foe camped to the North and West
The station at Zion would be alone, left to our lonely blessed
So up and out we scrambled from the Virgin’s fountain and the Old World Park
And left those watercolor mountains that had been our ark

The night dreams swept under the clear pendulous moon
With soft sapphiric streams whispering the Narrow’s tune
With stars above like the coronation of imperial kings
Abject love from the world held loft on angel’s wings
Bringing lustrous light along pierced veil silk skies
With the empyrean’s aegis the man of Zion never dies
Tender are those who pray for water from the streams above
No sun in heaven has brought me joy as rain has brought me love

Sacred incense from sagebrush on the yellow hills
Intoning fragrant hymns that marked and strengthened wills
What hatred could they lay claim to, what quarrel have they with me?
Anger at against our quiet catasterism in the secret sea?

Our peace was a wisp
And god's eloquence was illusionary
As the sky's imperial jewels mark no ephemeral coronation
Nor a grand era of noble kings in successive station
And the constellations became grim letters of fire Scarred into the cratered sky
When their guns roared into drum fire and rolling death
Speakers whispering the devil's dragon breath

They came from far and wide to claim our work of hand
The scent of well-worn earth and bounty drew them to our land
Dust storm deserts crash the outlands and dry the lifeless plains
We of Zion understand such is life among the remains
So blackguards from far afield come to take our work and wine
I will shatter them like a spear, they will never take what’s mine
Truly they do not know what Hell they’ve stirred by stepping on these stones
I will become God’s own vainglory as I shall crash upon their bones

It was outermarch from the Virgin’s sawspruce grove
Up pink canyon wall switchbacks as eagles dove
And our hands on rifle and hands on belt
Sun stained skin and uniform her wrath hath dealt
Rally the knights with plumage and banners resplendent
Those constellations spoke of growing heat with dog star ascendant
Ocher face painted soldiers, splintered stocks and rusted gun
The saints of Angel’s Landing demand their work be done
We will fight them in the field, we will hunt them where they run
I will crush them beneath my boot of Zion and this hateful sun

>>13805709
fuck, crush them***