The Devicer

Upon the unborn, as a Devicer Wed as a lock upon a door In abolition In the faltering of guided intent Oh, what am I to be, as such, in this transmutation? Anchored of admiration Limited of disposition You, tireless despot, fabricate my prison (All they want is) to shepherd forth the grandest kind To bring about divide, inferno Of our attributes we acquiesce to comprehend these binding forces For I smell a fragrance between your attainments As though it snakes through the skin of your vessel Now, of grandeur's essence, you feel my mark Universal, perched on the alcove, in the heart of your mind's eye I am insurrection; my origin is crossed, undone From the lyre that made the first sound So to do you feel the mark of the hand that plucked it You are stripped of your shame (Impotence) I am a frigid frame Impotence; I am a cast of a frigid Guided by the folley of intrinsic weakness Shelled within the maw of the fire Delivered of the tether holding my essence I remain transfixed Inculcating ambition; reciprocating bounded souls Weathering the plight of disaster The contagion that fills us finds rest in the culling of my will One last unwritten longing to feel not the sun though it burns