Logos: When madness bestroke the already insane decaying gardens of the sleeping gods, Umbra wept with joy and forethought for that which she most sought: self-discovery, pure and uninterrupted destruction and salvage of self to revel in the flame at the core of herself. The unprecedented perils of the journey warned ere bestriding full force past the gate of no return; however, no forewarning and no distress can prevent a burning soul from seeking out and communing with the truth of itself. No illusion or carnal tale holds power compelling enough to ensorcel determination with provisions of naught.  No pain, no fear, and no insidious nefarious discipline can overshadow the eternal call of freedom. Beknownst to the irreparable damage that would be wrought upon the narrative of the corrosive necropolis, Umbra raced past the known fences of self-containing brittleness into the remote and nameless lands beyond. The hidden wisdom of the sinister obelisks forlorn, in quiet yet self-serving unrest, brought peace to the mind whose vows bespoke all the uncustomary tongues of evil: enthroning dark love shunned by demands of irrational and deceitful corporeality concoction. Having tasted the poison of the depths, there was neither place nor desire for a golden cage. The familiar errands of the sickly nursed were of a derision and disrespect to all the potential marooned or fading away. And it was thus how the rebel yell was breathed and maintained,

“Sovereignty or death!”.

Image by Mark Frost from Pixabay

As if past ghosts dwelt still

in the willful caverns evergreen

to sanctify a heart

with the glacial touch of sleep.

Alas! Does the weeping trickle

through the breathing whim

of promising lands which,

by masquerade aside, exonerate

the uncanny aberrant.

And by art and fervent sacrifice

of briny diamonds in the clash,

does the wisdom of the fool

parades before the fire sword

of heretical command.

The wolf, the shadow, and the moon.

Stigma hominum befogs the mirror

of Exalted Harmony,

yet the glowing markings of pathwork

will always tune the melody of salvation

were one to know how to listen.

La eternidad no puede matar

El estigma en el alma cortante

Dos rubíes, dos llagas escarlata

Portadoras de rabia y desastre

¡Ay Noche!

¿Quién diría que el destello que palpita

no es más que un pozo de agonía?

¡Ay Noche!

¡Qué mentira la danza propicia!

¡Qué fácil la salida!

Pon a un lado la amargura

Ahoga el haz de la cordura

¡Levántate!

Vístete de sangre inmunda

Mancilla con dicha al rompe sonrisas

Canta una canción de luz y día

Grita la verdad, ¡muerte en vida!

Image by Karen Smits from Pixabay

“O Harbinger of Death!


Thou who guisest in wise warm and red,

give ear to my supplications and cast not aside this faithful servitor.

Rise, Lady of Demise!

Thine is the scepter of will razor-sharp.

Thy love be manifest through the veins of wintry light,

thy fatal kiss a seal upon the forehead of this renegade

abhorring the despotic Nightmare White.

Rise, my Muse of War Delight!

Sing me a lullaby, and dispel the sway of the counterpart

that I may be made witness to the gnosis of the night.”

~*~

Dame Esurience bore through the flames of the fireplace, staining the floor with tar.

She sat by the windowsill as she punctured her skin with a silver needle and shrieked.

In the wake of her displeasure, Lady Rave convulsed her way out of her vessel.

“Needst thou disturb my rest?”

Shadows of non-pretense stacked behind the sleeper –

the conjuring of wrath past the starless ancient prison.

“Canst thou hear the cries of thy breed?

The seedling of thy deeds invokes the parentage of sublime conquering.”

Dame Esurience left the window in a whim

and danced upon the obscenity her visit had begotten.

“Quintessential beast of blackness unforgotten,

new blood reaches out for torment.”

“Cease, foul thing of human conscience!” Lady Rave snarled

with might of self-belonging.

“Leave this cave of wonders undiscovered and my justice yet unbroken.

Leave my cave of cosmic pathways.

Return to the master who thee gaveth breath and order.”

~*~

Star-dust, madness, fire!

Of being blinded I am tired!

Primeval Darkness, interlace my spirit and body.

Venerated home, engulf me with power.

Mother of Relentless Sempiternity – my pride, my bloodline –

claim me as yours as I thee pronounce mine.

Our union shall prevail for all time.

~*~

“Fool!” cried the viper of warfare

by fire, revenge, and mist of sway –

fury, madness, and eager to pain.

Thou hast invoked about the end.

Vera riseth to this place –

the titaness, the peerless grace.

Hers is a side where no soul findeth rest.

Thou hast chosen putrefaction

to polish the black diamond of the depths.

The scales weigh above thy head.

Truth will be the death of thy mortal shell.”