The Black Messiah
Within the Colosseum roars
the restless Roman mob
Howling for the blood of Christians
driven forth with jeer and probe.
Shift the scene a dozen centuries
to northern Europe land;
See the Christians prick the pagans
as they search for Nimir’s brand;
Hear the righteous, feel the struggle,
know the horror of the thought
Of the swelling horde of innocent
that are for slaughter caught.
Caught to satisfy the thirst of those
who ride the church as wain,
Though the Christians died as martyrs yet
the witches burned in vain.
Be ye not deceived,
Still those sobs within your throat,
Let not your hearts be grieved,
Soldiers of the Mighty Goat!
This ritual that mocks the church
with incantations of the Mass
But opens pathways to the search
for knowledge old, and not of crass.
For we who are to Lilith born
remain in homage to our Queen;
The Old Religion reared again
will batter down all walls between,
To conquer all that men can know
and raise again our rule supreme;
O’er all the nations of the world
the Witchcult will regain its dream!
And those who died upon the pyre
will take their honors from the fire.
by Grady McMurtry
Note: Originally published in Thelema Lodge Calendar, March 2003.