The Beast You Seek

His mark is not physical
No number is truly definitive
Of his claim
Yet all seek to see
What has no
Physical manifestation.

His mark upon the head
Is hate
Is greed
Is love of self
Is craving a god
Whose physical form
Is many.

His mark upon the hand
Is stains of blood
Sins of the flesh
Sins of the heart
Abominations
Worked with the right hand
In the name of a God
Man has forgotten.

For the god that is craved
Is Legion
And it has no single form.
Yes, it is a pantheon
Of many desires
and many dooms.

The god can be as simple as
Laws from ages past
Whose hold is no longer of concern
For those who truly believe
For those laws are no longer
Something akin to an onus
But are a part of being compassionate human beings
Forever seeking to refrain from harming others.

The god can be guns
Weapons of death
Of pain
Of a false defense
Whose cold embrace only deepens the gulf
Between man and his neighbor.

The god can be riches and fame
Those harsh dual masters
Who rule the heart with coldness
Leaving their worshiper just as empty
As the day they began their worship.

The god can be an outward show
Of moral uprightness
That hides the truth beneath a whitewashed sheet
Of lies and illusion
That fools the wearer into believing
That they no longer have to work upon their own heart.

The god can be rites and rituals
That have lost their true meaning
Over the millennia
While Man replaced all meaning
With selfish motives.

The god can be one’s fear
causing them to strike out
Irrationally
At those they do not understand
Waging little wars
In feigned self-defense
All the while
Still bowing to the Beast.

The god can be a juxtaposition
Of self over an entity that
Has no real definitive form
Shape, color, creed, or gender
But is both above us
And so far beyond us
That we could never begin
To understand its true nature
Because we have lost our way
And forgotten about the true world
That world that lies beneath this physical realm.

Indeed, that god can be anything that has taken the place of
The one true deity
Whether it be one’s irrational hate, born of ignorance and fear
One’s insatiable greed
One’s jealousy
One’s envy
Or whatever may fill one’s heart or head.

These gods
The marks of the Beast
Are what marks the head, heart and right hands
Of those who serve the beast.
It is not a mere sequence of numbers,
No.
It is the deeds and thoughts
Yes, the very things
Those who bow to him
Worship as they also worship him.

And the beast?
Who is he?
He is one who comes
Pretending to be coming
In the service of Christ
But has spread this ministry
Of hate, greed, intolerance, and fear.

And yet,
The people do not see him for what he is.
They applaud his message
They carry his signs
They listen to his speeches
They bow to his desires.

All the while,
They preach to watch
“Watch for the coming of the Lord”
They say.
And yet,
They watch not
Because, to them,
Their savior has already arrived.

“Beware the beast”
They cry
And yet they have had a hand
In building the perfect beast
As they search for a beast with numbers
On his head and hands
Even though they bear his marks upon their own.

For it is well known
That the beast you seek
Is always right under your nose
And has remained hidden
In plain sight
Feeding off your hate
Your greed
Your envy
Your bitterness
And your obsessions.

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