Bled bloody red

Dark the frozen celestial, 
guardian clouds drape softly over yon red moon, 
it’s below Celsius outside, 
Paracelsus is destined to die.

Seven bodies,Golden orb, starry eyes,those untouchable spies...
water,herbs,stones and metals, friends that tell no lies.
Pen your will... Mercury this time is not on your side.
Quick the silver water; Paracelsus must die.

Hands of the Devil’s Doctor light the renaissance fire, 
ambers of Avicenna burn holes in green apothecary eyes,
scorch Celsus and Galen university hall of pinky thinking,
screaming Doyens, masks a blackening, souls blistering.
Tapestry of medieval medicine charred and shrinking,
Devil Physician pissing brimstone...not even listening.

Gypsy,snake charmer,miner, first hand knowledge fan the Luther coals, 
Heart of Paracelsus burns to cure the unbalanced needy,corrupted poor souls.
Moral virtue gives the practitioner wings,
The art of healing begins.

Poison lies in all matter,’tis the dose that makes it but poison.
Poison lies in bigotry,hate,’tis the dose that ends all living things.
Poison favours the liar’s arsenal,’tis the dose that brings it to the surface.
Poison favours a mystery,’tis the dose that killed Father Toxicology.

Alchemist,astrologist,occult dabbler medical magician, zany remedies curing ghoulish diseases,
deviant was he,Paracelsus the wanted man.
Death by quicksilver, he died at White Horse Inn.
Assassins hiding under the covenant bed, villains of lead and shiny tin.

Bequeathed was the Sword of Alkahest to a trusted,incorruptible friend.
The Phantom took possession,Devil’s claws gave revenge.
A twist of the pommel revealed two rings once of poisonous lead,
now Good and Bad were that of gold,elixir within.
The night Paracelsus died,
medicine lived,the moon cried
...bled bloody red.
by Abre