My youngest son used to listen to the band, O Sleeper, a hard metal, Christian band. I wanted to show an interest in his type of music, but frankly, I had a difficult time because the vocalists screamed the lyrics instead of singing them. What I really enjoyed about the music is that my son played the songs flawlessly on the drums. No small feat. I became interested in one of the songs in particular because of the startling lyrics. The name of the song is Charlatan’s Host.
I decided to see if I could write something that O Sleeper would be proud to scream while maintaining my personal self and where I was at in my life. I encourage you to find Charlatan’s Host on the web, listen to it, then come back and put that style to my lines. Let me know what you think.
What does it benefit to allow the enemy
to rush across the gray matter beneath the skulls of humanity,
making twisted paths and desolate places in the attempt
to capture the flag!
This diabolical beast is known only for destruction
and saved for its final breath.
Is there a glory in my own destructive end?
Can I withstand the fury and the flames that are set
at the perimeter to wait and watch as I am devoured whole?
Where is the protection you promised for the faithful?
Did you delight in the blood of the sinless One
so that my blood is only a symbol of that suffering for my good?
Who will see a tortured soul as only you can?
They can only see what is on the outside
and what falls from my mouth in torrents and waves of deceit.
This is not the real me.
The real me bleeds red, like He did.
Don’t turn away from me in my anguish.
No one understands like you,
but you do not recognize me apart from my pain.
How do I bridge the gap that is the wide expanse between my body and my soul?
Why can they not see me and love me as you do?
If they were to hear my thoughts and bear my burdens
would they run away from their own anguish?
Would they behold themselves when they view my image in the mirror?
Can we not see that we are all the same?
We bleed together and we die in pain.
Futility is the end of all that breathe
if desire is limited to this plane of earth we inhabit.
There is a longing that cuts through flesh, blood and bone.
The human spirit yearns to intermingle with His intangible own.
He is more real than the vastest imagining of the minds of men.
That ideal which sustains the greatest thoughts and achievements.
Oh how He laughs from the heavens!
Our puny thinking is nothing to Him.
We have no choice but to bow down in humility and despair.
There is no flag to be captured.