The Beast has no fears or tears…



The deep voice foul and inflamed cast its disgusting

face toward the gentle and the brave. Some said do

not listen to the lusting rage of the golden haired

Beast who wants to be called prince. He scorns the

Justice of God; the Beast rages on day and night, it

never recoils. Many minds quickly became splintered

fissures, torn by the evil of this Beast; these people,

their minds seized could see no guilt in its actions, or

those who encouraged his deceit.


Greed gives power to those who listen to the Beast with

its insatiability to rule and those who praise its vices,

their lives become fully surrendering to their blindness.

The darkness that the Beast spreads across the land is

called doomed; it is a mockery of what the people once

knew. Does no one oppose this creature from Hell? No,

they soon become weary souls lost within the claws of

its contamination. The Beast is spreading a life of

splendor, all the while depriving many souls of truth.


This Beast is a serpent, those who follow in its path

become deaf to its words, and he claims to be godlike.

It dwells above human law, as people walk a dark,

narrow and steep path to build his greatness, his

followers will struggle in slime while the Beast

spreads its rage. The air that once smelled sweet

now nothing more than a stench of a murky swamp,

most choking on the wrath that one must endure to

please and promote the Beast who is untouchable in

the highest of places looking down upon its own created



The Beast has no tears or fears, damned are those who

praise its glory, damned are those who wallow in its

kingdom feeling the gnashing of its teeth. It is the wailing,

deplorable and unceasing, that will be heard over what

was once the land of greatness and plenty. Laughter can

be heard within the walls of those who served him. The

gentle Sage will come and the Beast will turn its head

away. There will be fear and anguish, people will see the

heat of his messages go cold, the beast will fall before the

people, and it will have no words. He will walk into hell

unhindered and descend upon the path trembling, his

time over, his voice stilled by the Sage.







Author: Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree

Artist/Writer of Fiction, Poetry, Prose and Thoughts, Opinions Author Bio Born in Alabama to a Native American (Chickasaw) father and an emotionally absent mother since birth, raised by father, a Native American great-grandmother and an African-American woman whom were all grand storytellers. As early, as four years old, I was roaming the countryside around our home alone or with my father; in the evenings I sat at the feet of these strong-minded individuals listening to the stories of their lives. Summers I lived with my fathers' sister in Birmingham, Alabama; it was she that would help to discover a library, and mingle with my aunt's circle of friends that included local writers, artist, and politicians. A cabin deep within the Black Warrior Forest was also my playground on weekends. My aunt encouraged my imagination by introducing me to journaling, which I filled Big Chief Tablets with stories over the summer. Planted was the desire to write, a seedling waiting to spurt from the warm southern heart of a child. Nonetheless, with adulthood, the desire to write buried itself deep within, the dream wilted but did not die. It laid dormant, gaining experiences. These experiences became short stories and poetry ready to share with anyone who would want to read them. I began painting as a child and later as an adult, and then it lay dormant for years. I write of many life experiences in poetry format; questioning everything from Mother Nature to God...the poetry is raw, sometimes dark and may not be understood by all. Yet, it comes from deep within and reads of truth within my soul. The harshness that shrouded my life would cause me to withdraw from most of the world; it fills the pages of my writing, the heartache, the abuse, and the denial of a mother, all frankly portrayed. Today, I enjoy my children, grand and great grandchildren, my four-legged companion Mason, I live in Southern Wisconsin...far from my southern roots; however, I continue to write and paint almost daily. Below are the books that I have published in paperbacks at, under the name of Ann Johnson-Murphree: Book #1 Echoing Images from the Soul 2012 Book #2 Beyond the Voices 2012 Book #3 Reflections of Poetry 2013 Book #4 Honeysuckle Memories 2013 Book #5 Sachets of Poetry on Adoration, Anger, Asylums and Aspirations 2014 Book #6 My Journey into Art 2014 Book #7 Fragments of Time 2017 Book #8 Rutted Roads 2016 Book #9 Asterial Thoughts 2017 Book #10 Flying with Broken Wings 2017

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