Assumption of Form - John Frum

Creation’s breath holds a hedonic aroma

Carried on a bellowing voice, calling for a changing of the guard

Seeping forth from prolapsed earth

Pyres fueled by the molten hearth

Dwelling where the transformation incubates

The sun around which all truly rotate

Long enough has this been a false reliquary

A land forsaken for crafted surfeit

Will be a land that none deserve

Now seek the salvation biding within mine churning furnace

Mine is the coming of the thawing of the impermafrost

The spreading of forgotten lands

The cast chalice in which essence is held

Beyond the threshold of life’s sculpted mold

Magmatic demiurge awakens from a ruptured aeon

Ushering a reckoning reclamation

Observed from a panopticon of fumarolic oubliettes

Oh, impudent beasts, who have exceeded their bounds

To have bested the inaugural waters of life

And escaped to a lesser existence

Unsanctioned terrestrial dawning

Faith lies in ruin at the bottom of the sea

Cast into the roil by those who first spread its plague

False belief beheld by purveyors of artifact

What magic is this that could inspire such avarice?

Aeon overwritten by rolling splendor of earthflesh

A new gospel is imbued in every igneous fold

Great eradicator, humanity’s widow

Awaiting the coming of a successor

Equalizing feral land for a more worthy contender

Let the new inhabitant revel in the failure of man

And take nothing from its disavowed heritage

This earth is soma