Tyr Morga

I Stand Between God and Worm

There are times when the fires in my brain don’t thunder as they used to—times when lights dim and I can see neither before or after. But then I remember what I bleed for and why I war. I am my own ghost. I am the ghost of a man that died two years ago. In a battle of all the city states that find home within me. Divided by reason and Madness, culminating in Mutually Assured Destruction.

I ascended, floating over my ruins as a mushroom cloud, watching over myself through fragmented lens. I ascended, a spirit that cracked out of his shell to leap into the ether of unknowneties. And where do I slither, if I know not beyond and before? And where do I hide my apple of a body, if not in the eye of a god? But the world will not bite me. I will crawl, I will run, and I will fly. I will show them that all dogs do go to heaven—That all lies, all blunders, as well as all truths, all routes, through twists and turns, carnals and gutters, lead to seek the face of God—they just lose their way, like water drpping into an open crater of lava.

And when my days are turned over, like finished dog eared pages and the night takes its place, dark chapters, I, a ghost, formless, take the shape of a god as I transverse past planets of molten dreams, faint whispers, all of which I can morph into anything I wish. But sometimes I am worm, creeping, crawly thing, biting its way through sand and mud. I resemble the serpent that told the first one truth that broke the gates of Eden, and lead mankind into a devious path of struggle. My laughter is induced by reason, and my cries are hushed by madness.

I am Tyr Morga. I am the blinding light before a heaven built on falsehoods is burnt into a hell where I shine—a contrarian star. I am a voice hallowing from the pits of the cosmos against everything that has been listened and judged as good. Listen to me, for I am great. I am as free a spirit can be, floating away, free from the oppression of gravity. My suffering is crafting a chain and cuffs out of it soul to keep me bound to existence. I am the apple that fell and crushed the eye of the storm where gods play and make hay.