Autoapotheosis

Aeveron

"But see, amid the mimic rout
A crawling shape intrude! 
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude! 
It writhes! – It writhes! – with mortal pangs
The mimes become it's food, 
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.

Out – out are the lights – out all! 
And, over each quivering form, 
The curtain, a funeral pall, 
Comes down with the rush of a storm, 
While the angels all pallid and wan, 
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy "Man,"
And it's hero the Conqueror Worm." *

Time and space run through my astral veins.
Stars obey my orders.
Planets circulate me in neverending concentric rings.
I am the center of the universe.
I am COSMOS!