Prayers of Salvation
your weapons are useless, all your proud technology dies.
you hide behind energy and metal, without faith or religion.
famous your warriors are, you say, countless worlds they invaded.
long sharp claws, reptilian eyes, merciless coldblooded terrors.
in the dark depths of space your ships drift, empty, hollow, and dead.
the enemy came without warning, killed so swiftly, was invincible.
you shout, you struggle, you slash, you stab, you fire your guns.
finest warriors of the galaxy, ripped appart, slaughtered like animals.
they walk through your energy barriers, they shrug off your death rays.
they laugh at your claws, your blades, your little robotic helpers of doom.
they ignore strongest metal and finest trap, in horror you watch them
approach, the aeon old enemy of all life. but you wont pray, you are proud.
metar walks between the stars, his hammer glowing in endless night,
a prayer he hears, from a small little ship, a vessel assaulted by horror,
and there, not a warrior, but a priest, utters the call of help.
demons come, demons grin, demons laugh, they have no equal anywhere.
his reptilian eyes closed, he speaks old ancient words, his scaly skin
glowing green, claws retracted, elongated head bowed, humble, prepared
for his death, but faithful, metar has another name in his mind, but
those prayers are all the same, for every child under a different sun.
later, after revenge and retaliation, after life’s explosion against evil,
when metar’s might retreated, demonkind sent back to hell in pieces,
the man of faith rises, without a wound, victorious, but not smiling,
terror echoing in his mind. only those of faith will be saved.
honor the gods, even if you are the strongest of the strong, tar khalan,
learn the old ways, you ignorant fools, pray every day and night,
find the path of light, be a candle in evil’s darkness, and prepare
for the hordes of demonkind, only faith will give you strength.