Stone Pen
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The pain of Shuruk Ra   By Roy Johnson

Fuck me, fuck me, thou fallen prophet, I hate
you. Aw, stop it  stop it, no! His mighty thrust
into her paves way to The screeching
echoes, galloping The cold white stone walls
of her corridors; The hollow of The kings hall
bleeds The moans of faintness. Her crying,
is not of suffering, but tears of joy.

Nathans challenge is now shame. Why
would such a man as this king send you unto
me? You lay me down upon my back, now
you cannot show your face anymore unto
The wisdom of  this land. Go, leave me you
prick, they would surely stone you for
fornicating my pleasure. Death is my brother,
my daughter is wiser than Solomon, yet, you
come to me with these words. I taint your
soul with droplets of  passion, my fruit is
scorched by your sun.

Nathan rose up from her bed; his love is now
disgrace; disgusted with her, he spat upon
her face. Just as I spat upon you, so shall
The Lord spit upon your bed, you whore!
Thousand and ten thousand thousands have
fallen your beauty, but I am here to prophesy
unto you that you are wasted as The wine
upon this floor. He lifted The stone from The
corner, yes The edge of where dainties
beguile Many. He thrust downward,
smashing her skull; spattered blood paints
The salt stone, warmth embeds itself into
coldness, she is dead.

He walks away, stain filled robe. As The
former kings hands are dirty, so are mine. I
wash my hands of this evil, The land  and
The innocent will no longer fall prey to this
snare. I have done The deed of The Lord.

Through The hall of The castle, before The
gates of passion, a chuckle resounds.
Nathan's heart, a snag it felt. It is fear,
something he's not tasted  before. He turns,
before him stands Shuruk Ra, God of
passion, un-tainted, full of beauty, her eyes,
as The fullness of two moons, she heckles.  

Do you think you could possibly destroy me,
oh mighty Nathan of The prophets? Your
thrusting, was that of your own sword. The
smashing stone was that of your heart,
ripped from your very chest. And  my tears
are of triumph, for you have fallen your own
deceit. Look down my beloved child, it is
your blood and not mine. Having eyes full of
revenge, you fail to see your own lust. Surely
you could not have imagined that you could
touch me without my permission?  Before
your father knew your mother, yes, before
this dust underneath your feet, did I pave this
day.  My plot is fulfilled, my pleasure is to
see your pain. Now go, kiss my brother, for it
is your last kiss, oh mighty man of God!

Nathan felt his blood filled  robe, his touch
stifled sharpness, a whimper gave way to his
pain. The stone was that of flesh, his heart is
torn, death is sure. Upon his knees he did
fall, yes, at The feet of Shuruk Ra he did
bow.  It is a dreaded day, yes, that day In
which time lost record of The death of The
mighty prophet Nathan.