The birth of a bastard

There has been blood spilled & splattered
There have been bones broken & battered
Monuments built & shattered
Moments made that mattered &
Matter
now turned to dust
Dreams turned to rust
Wishes to disaster
The death of a father
The birth of a bastard
A ever laster
A caster of whatever camouflage
The master seemed to suit him in
Each inch measured
Buried in pleasure
The grave is a gift I can't wait to unwrap
When the gamut is seen
 through Godly glasses
When the gambit is not a gamble
When the gate is opened
& the ample angels say
( with angled lips )
"Welcome home son
How can we heal you?"
Just hold me I answer