Until The Time Of Zarathustra
Until The Time Of Zarathustra
by Charles E S Fairey
The seed must be watered
To become a flower,
But if the stem be a pillar of salt
No outpouring of water will save its hour,
Until the time of Zarathustra
And the coming of the worldly tower.
The mighty seed grew upward
Entwining itself around the tower,
Coiling its branches embracing the stone
Whilst it grew, heaven began to cower,
For it knew once it bore fruit again
It was earth's final and ending hour,
For He that sat at the top of the pillar
Was the salt of the whole of the earth,
And He had dominion over everything
And had done since His noble birth,
But now with wings of everlasting darkness
He enveloped the Light and invited His curse,
For into Omega He would ascend
For He no longer wished to nurse,
A humanity or world without a future.
The seed must be watered
To become a flower,
But if the stem be a pillar of salt
No outpouring of water will save its hour,
Until the time of Zarathustra
And the coming of the worldly tower.
What really is supposedly wrong or right
When we are living through the final night,
What use are our morals and godly beliefs
When others hate and wish to quarrel and bite,
What use is it to try and find a common ground
When our opponent has no foundation round?
Everything is just for the wisdom of the self
To remind us of what our destiny attained,
And to judge nudge or advise our brothers
From such a holy mission we must refrain,
For our enemies of the well learned individual
Believe their evil actions are of God and sane,
Whilst to the deserted plains I do desert
To my balance of the beast to tame,
For it was the beast they wished to conquer
But they go hell for leather without answer,
To end it all upon a high
Whilst the real wither and die,
For they care not for the common man
And only serve their own want and hand
And I just wait in the flame and sand.
The seed must be watered
To become a flower,
But if the stem be a pillar of salt
No outpouring of water will save its hour,
Until the time of Zarathustra
And the coming of the worldly tower.
The eternal rift of man and spirit
And the undying of the flame,
And the man who set fire to the earth
Yet with Armageddon you thought the same,
But the spirit is the catalyst for change
The man with a spirit of fire is about to reign.
For if a flower grows into a sparklike spike
Let its iron nails fall like shards into the soil,
For once and wholly the balance is broke
The heart, mind and soul needs not toil,
For why slither to pluck the seed from the maid
If around her you bit, clawed and coiled,
For they poisoned themselves
So too their wound you oiled,
Bit and sunk in your razorlike fangs
A deadly bite whilst the world recoiled,
No start no end just dust upon soil
Burning in neverending flame fed oil
Clawing scratching with tooth and nail,
For utter and complete no sense prevailed
For now Death was fully unclothed unveiled
Whilst the last Revelation proclaimed and bellowed,
Son of Man your hour is out of time
And I commit you to the sea of brine,
For the earth is full of salt
And nothing will grow,
The pillars have fallen to dust
And your flesh for the crow,
Come never return to from whence you came
For even the garden didn't escape the hoes,
And as such the grim reaper to’s and fro’s
Back back and forth he unceasingly goes.
The seed must be watered
To become a flower,
But if the stem be a pillar of salt
No outpouring of water will save its hour,
Until the time of Zarathustra And the coming of the worldly tower.