Conjured through your visceral fears.
Son of Charon, I siphon the Earth.
The blade at the jugular.
Keeper of the gate-Abandon all hope ye who enter here.
Surrender the throne; wanton greed be not atoned.
Summoned by the spoken word.
Mediator of the Father, this heart beats louder than most.
The impulsive righteous hand.
Son of Jon; Downtrodden with the simple and humbled.
Into the beggars hand I give and your love I take.
I am pestilence and the prodigal son.
Through my fathers hand I learned the art of shrewdness and manipulation.
“Always be on the lookout,” he would say.
I was a secret operative and was scolded for being caught.
By observing shadows and reflections, I could watch them discreetly.
Most of these creatures you cannot trust.
When I’d get into scuffles at school, he’d pick me up and say
“Which hand did you use?”
After, he would smirk inside and see his own rebellious youth.
I was to be more observant than observation.
Though I am to become an owl preying over my environment-
I had to appear just as oblivious as the mouse.
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