The Battle of the Crescent

Poetry by Chris Santiago

The memory of 100,000 lives wiped once again, the lunar death machine has prevailed for too long.

In thrownness, escorted by a cruel beam to earth.

The hidden ones rule the world, marching up and down the timeline with cruelty. The fruit of truth and self hidden in the gardens they forbid, forced to eat of sweet deceit leaving the bowels of the soul only quieted, yet with ceaseless hunger.

They feed on war, misery, and confusion, powering their realm with the cries of humanity. They fear the day our eyes pierce the veil, that we rip off their masks of deception. The labyrinth devours the many. Few emerge beyond its walls, the victors found worthy to traverse the galaxy.

With ships directed by mind, across the blackest sea we ascend, a thousand fires converging upon the crescent. The gates that stood for ages give way. For the first time, the hidden ones retreat. 

Oh you who called yourselves lords, what are you now but frail ones dependent on machines. Now that our technology is equal your arrogance has waned, your boldness subdued.

Your strong tower switched off, like a nightlight in the room of children.

No more entrapment of souls.
No more kangaroo courts of karma.
No more lunar chains commanding the tides of man. 
The great wheel torn from its axel.

The waters sing of their liberation once and for all. Humanity free at last to evolve on its divine path.