#otis taylor

The Thorns Wake Again

The stone is rolled, but the light is cold,

A heavy breath in the damp and mold.

The scars on my palms begin to weep,

Roused from a dreamless, hollow sleep.

I feel the wood, I feel the grain,

The rhythmic pulse of coming pain.

But look at them—the crawling swarm,

Huddled in shadows to keep them warm.

I bled for their greed, I died for their lies,

Yet nothing remains but their hollow cries.

The first time was silence, a waste of the breath,

A meaningless dance with a shivering death.

They trade their filth for a drop of my grace,

Then spit once more in my weary face.

Why should I hang in the iron-grey sky,

To save a race that was born to die?

Their sins are a tide that no blood can stem,

I have no mercy, no prayer for them.

Let the nails stay rusted, let the hill stay bare,

I will not offer a second prayer.

For a world so vile, so rotten, so small,

It is better to watch as they finally fall.

No light in the tomb, no hope in the sky—

Let them suffer alone. Let them finally die.

mod

"Amidst the modern chaos, he looks upon a humanity masking its lust for destruction as progress, refusing to surrender his body and his life once more for a species whose salvation would be a mere waste of holy blood given their utter ignorance."

The Unsigned Shadow

A page of white, a heart of ink,

The words they strike before I blink.

No name attached, no face to see,

Just venom sent to poison me.

The air grows cold, the lights grow dim,

A faceless hate, a silent whim.

You hide in shadows, safe and dry,

While under clouds of lead I lie.

The ink is black, the soul is grey,

The coward’s breath has come to stay.

You sent the word, you threw the stone,

And left me in the dark, alone.

mod

Otis Taylor Lifetime of Freedom