It knows great power with no direction.

Direction be damned, just eat everything
Until nothing is left.

There is no memory, for Crab of ever
not being Here, like empty space,
Here, always.

Those being served in its
Terrible Grace, notice nothing.
It likes to take the shape of a Crab.
and to keep warm and grow to
nurture only itself, to invade and
make war on Form.
Form is the Enemy, Oblivion,
the Kingdom it serves.

The Army under command, Chaos.
Modus operandi? Destroy from within,
by decay and rot.
Its’ soldiers are an army of spies,
crafty, quiet, unrecognized,
until it’s too late.

All the while, planting seeds, growing.
Pretty, bright yellow, flowers sprouting
fuzzy white parachutes to invade and
rain down on the lawn, choking it’s life.
Replacing the green with a carpet of gold.
Taking the form of an eagle, it’s
eating my liver while I’m chained
to a Rock, it’s rolling down hill
and I can’t make it stop.

A Terrible Grace bestowed,
a gift from Emptiness, the other
side of the Coin, One Coin, Not-Two.

However it looks, appearance deceives.
Since the Serpent told the very first Lie.
He is called, after all, the Father of Lies.
No Evil! No Good! Don’t take a bite!

Resurrections promise is that there
is no Death, Only Life!

Even the Crab is a child of Emptiness,
like Lucifer or Prometheus, cast out for Pride,
Angels of Jehovah wearing a disguise.