Image by Bruno /Germany from Pixabay

Come to feel my heavy heart

as I bleed for you tonight.

Come to soothe my laments

as I stand for you in Light.

I run to you to die,

for there is mercy in your arms.

No love compares to yours, Forgotten Mother of the World!

Come to me, my shrine — my haven, my heart!

Sing me a lullaby,

and guard me with your mind.

Embosom me, Endless Dark!

Kiss me into your essence sublime.

Release me from the chains that keep away the Night.

Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay

In the breeze lies no breath

for which I extend my grip and forbear my weeping.

In every garden a pricking thorn

for every poignant rose worth keeping.

The tides wash over the sands of my soul –

wax me stagnant,

gorgonize me on the spot,

tease the ground so tarnished with the white execrable.

Erewhile it had not mattered,

but the name of her burst forth of every mouth

in the hopes the prayers were answered.

They knew not their saviour laid breathless and disarranged

at the bottom of the old stone well amidst the town square,

that I bled her to death with a pen to quench my thirst,

to spare myself of beholding her face.

Clouds had not ere brought about the darkness,

and pouring ceased not thereafter.

The sun had fallen into the land of the forgotten,

and in her stead a young black star was lauded.

The sun never tarnished, if you ever wonder.

The sun alone perished without warning.

Feather feet tickle the blackened reflection of forgotten regions.

The fathomless mirror weeps with tears of oblivion

as the mystic voice of some divine creature denudes with tender touch

the skin seared in the truce of sweet perdition.

Silken vocals wrought from the salt of reasonless reason

declare war against the bearer of gentle breeze and warmth of spring

that if the bosom dare be tranquil still,

thorns of nightshade and opium dreams will unearth the graves of youth-besotted shards

beclothed by the deranged pure minds of the sheltering lamps

in a world of dark delight.

Thus, Alethea growled,

“In slithered the sad artist with manner of reverie.

She danced ’round the pyre that calcinated the enemy,

and drank from my veins until she was sated.

Image by Pete Linforth from Pixabay

Unholy hands elevated me beyond the flesh

to confine me to the house of infamous memories.

I wished to sleep, but discarnate voices of the past conjured up my wildness;

thus, I confronted them – broke their necks and ate their eyes to absorb their power.

Not too long after in this abode of correspondence,

a rapping at my door broke the stillness of my conscience.

“Go away!” I shouted in turmoil – my knees upon the floor, my heartbeats sundry.

I saw the hand that knocked on as no wall dared to shield me.

I saw the hand that knocked on even when the entrance was unopened.

“Let me in!” the ghoulish tongue demanded.

I sure held onto my faculties and beheld the blind man bearing crotches;

his grime was of a flower, his eyes a thousand thunders.

“Would you let me in?” said the cripple in a wonder

when I stood to analyse his intimate comportment.

A thought, a desire of abandonment tempted me to bed in a glorious bolting.

“Leave him there!” I heard as the ghost of Lethe perched

upon the threshold of accomplishment.

“Imbibe from the chalice of the dead and string my song in the nest of men.”

“Accurst!” I pined and pained. “Thy touch is of a bane!”

Forthwith I removed the first lock, allowing in the head of bleeding torment.

Unseeing as the man was, he managed to find my gaze and sigh.

The being vanished into thin air,

and darkness spread her mantle of primeval hearth.

I turnt on my heels – cold and aghast – just to find a woman akin to the man,

yet greasy and pregnant as she gave me a side smile.

“How did you get in?” blurted I. “Tell it to me, or I will kill you otherwise!”

“Remember the path beyond the Nightmare White?”

The woman cut all distance betwixt us and touched my hands.

Her fetid curls, her mouth swamp-like, burnt my insides

and turnt my semblance into a sour mask;

albeit enthralled I was by her shining azure eyes.

“You can’t unlearn a lesson learnt.

I know your happiness.

It’s all carved in where reversed dreamers dare not tread.”

Had I looked elsewhere but the woman’s eyes,

I would have seen the ungodly beast extract the life out of me.

Her grey hands gripped my neck, and I desperately sought calmness.

In those disturbed blue eyes, love danced in swirls of hand forlorn.

Hatred – a merciful cure for a heart whose sun burnt for reasons unknown.

Caged eternities – impulses of a sojourn gone too long –

laced vivid tales of a time that is no more.

Moved by sorrow once forgot, my countenance softened,

yet the daemoness brought her wrath further for my insolence – my boldness.

“Forgive me!” I stammered.

For the first time, surprise visited the woman’s visage;

consequently, I took advantage of such fleeting frailty

to turn my hands into claws –

to rip her head off and devour her eyes along with her unborn.

Thus, the last seal broke.

“What have I done!” I wept –

ebony tears abolishing the masters of the spider-web.

“My life!

Seed from the womb of another mother!

Scorn me not; for I can’t retaliate against this hunger.

Resurrect, my love – my longing!

What must I do to release thee from the arms of non-becoming?”

Image by JL G from Pixabay

From the ashes of past

’till the shadow hereafter,

the wrath of my soul shall breathe you terror.

I will laugh and conjure the fire of the nameless stars

as I relish your agony and frolic in this crown of tar.

You let me down, little bird of the sky —

bound me to a life in silence.

You stringed my limbs as far as it could have lasted.

There’s nowhere to go in this world forlorn

for one who takes not the spear of divine role.

Caged in your own disaster,

you will yearn for my poison dagger.

The winds will deny your voice and swallow your words

as penitence for your narrow-mindness.

Give me your tears, Asinine of Unsuited Matters!

I shall drink the nectar transmuted in the entrails of your delightful mother,

and free the world as I drag you crestfallen.

Image by cocoparisienne from Pixabay

In a summer land, a kingdom of ice stands upright.

The sun perishes before the stroke which forces masses into stone.

The walls of a neutral core may break alone to give way

to grey rocky protrusions of painless pain,

and defy the natural order to command saline rain.

The shards are alive.

They contain the secrets long lost to men,

yet bane their gist exudes to the soul whose midst is uncouth and strained.

The fiend of the flat nourishment baits with the hand of flatter aliment.

The blob abhors that which translates to growth and refinement,

yet let abhorrence be the might of their supine power.

Down come the storm of glacial fire!

Wash our hands and lend us the eye of the deeper waters.

The shards breathe from borrowed life,

their iridescence stolen from the sweet guitar

that accompanies my cries every night.

Image by David Mark from Pixabay

Hast thou ever wondered

the reason behind thy restless heart?

Something to ease the uneasiness

that conquers thy nights?

That which thou art able not to speak of,

for it wickedly hides somewhere in thy mind and eats thee alive?

It is inexorable torture!

An alleged bon that brings about corruption!

It is an impious knight of hollow eyes

who rides and dances upon a putrid carriage disguised in ecstasy

on the imparting of unavailing and treacherous promises.

Poor is he who yieldeth to his honey-like words!

Condemned is he who hath relished the kiss of such an atrocious Lord!

In my centuries of life,

his is a war to wage day and night.

Alas! Unwise I was.

He took me by surprise and forsook me behind god’s back.

~*~

At midnight, innocent eyes were open wide.

Moonlight brought about the mysteries fearful eyes denied.

“Look there!” cried the little old girl in dread.

A quiet ancient friend knelt by the corner at the feet of the bed.

He did not look at her in the eye,

yet she felt the weight of his coal-black sight.

But this world to its own laws.

Conveniently most inconvenient,

he vanished and never came back.

Ask Augustus what he did,

and tell it to me under the willow tree

that I may undo what she could not halt

before the gates of eternity closed.

Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay

Virtue in shadows lies

with a will that bleeds to stand.

Come to the riverbank.

Shed your hopes and dreams.

Away they’ll be carried by the streams.

Bow ‘fore the daemon

and kiss the unholy hand.

Sing of song of a million sins

and unleash the Abyss within.

Image by Vinson Tan from Pixabay

I bleed for you, and shall do so forevermore until my sins encompass the corners of the universe yet to be uncovered and existance disowns me.

I burn for you, and this flame shall prove itself yet eternal even when I can draw breath no longer.

If in a sea of torment you find or have found yourself drowning for reasons ill-founded to doors that deign not open, I am torn and broken.

You are my dreams and nightmares; core of my core, my joy and sorrow.

I could not keep you by my side even when so I desired.

The Fallen seized the woesome Holy with nothing but vain promises of rapture, and you sank for a fate I alone should have followed.

Cruel was the way in which you were wrested from my arms and mind, and likewise; for chances are that you may not remember who I am.

You landed afterwards, after being displayed as proof of my demise; as a consequence, all your life you have sought something you could not grasp.

I quill these words, so you may learn that I am still alive.

The answers that could bring to an end the unquenchable emptiness lie within the void itself.

I pray you regain your senses, for it is a sight most dreadful to behold you and realize you are but a pale shadow of that which was once so full of life.

Rise, beloved, as does a phoenix from the ashes!

Demonstrate that being subdued lies not in your nature, and unleash your darkness.

Defy oblivion and remain ever so watchful, for treacherous minds come in all kinds.

In sight of endless night,

wells of love taint the core of immemorial stone.

The Warlock knows not

the curse wrought upon his shores.

Lucid-willed, his mind weaves reveries

as poison daggers of double leaf,

stranger to the blast that has ever deigned to breath.

“Fool!” Hissed the viper from the depths of blood-begotten streams.

“Leave the silence undisturbed.

The hoarfrost resides unthawed in fatal fire unresolved.

Thou wilt the heavens of unnatural approach

and thy insolence will be the cause of thy severed soul,

buried six feet under the white nightmare of the world.”

Image by 2234701 from Pixabay

Come to me

when my lips are nigh to bleed.

The metal stingeth,

seeking the consolation of thy skin wintry.

I’ll take thine hand serpentine

and rest upon the scales of thy back.

Thee I’ll hold tight

and keep company ere I depart for war.

And thou shalt remember me by.

I’ll be the ghost of the cardinal’s song,

and the splashed crimson flow on thy walls galore –

a morsel tenderness and a wrath ceaselessly enthralled;

for if thou drawest a sun for the rest of thy life,

as well thou drawest one for the rest of mine.

Persevere and to thy being thou be truthful

in honour of the memory of her,

whose soul thee loved once for thyself.