Crystal bed of sentient quiescence

amidst the dark bedazzled

tombstone of solar haze.

A night of sentiment bedighted

in grim and graceful lace,

watering her wake with dry tears

of lucid bewilderment.

A brilliant spear imbued

with roses and nightshade,

the warm solitude untouched,

immaculate by virtue of rebirth.

The altar of sacrificial breath

for the alluring ambrosia of the dead

tells the tales of an ancient distress:

a sorrow of loving hell unredeemed

by the armament of the deluded flesh.

Murmurs in the daytime speck,

kaleidoscopes and swirling strings of otherness

summoning the rising of the abeyant armies

through the yearning veils into the chamber

of nestling consciousness.

~*~

Murmurs in the air,

spectacles of colours and silhouettes

dancing ‘fore the heart whose river has run

into the high seas with nothing more

than the tearing love for the Black Star

which underlies the theatre’s spotlight.

~*~

Murmurs murmuring ever

the disavowal of tales oozed from opiate crevices

of malison and true derangement.

Murmurs of the innate throne

which hand pries open the torture room of sol.

Murmurs, quiet memories of dusk –

the revelry of Soul bleeding art

into the listless ball of fleshy command.

Image by Anja🤗#helpinghands #solidarity#stays healthy🙏 from Pixabay

¡Simiente del oscuro tutelaje, abogante transcendente;

tĂş, que inadvertida izas sombras en los pantanos de la gente; tĂş!

Simiente del exilio intransigente del olvido y la inconsciencia,

desciende del trono negro de la verdad plena

y consagra mi presencia con tu mano guerrera.

Hoguera del sagrado árbol nocturno, ubicua numinosa,

despoja los rasgos de la esclavitud recĂłndita

para que el cadáver viviente en los jardines del fulgor inverso

se arranque los huesos y reclame su imperio

más allá del péndulo mordaz de los dioses durmientes.

MaldiciĂłn impredecible

Temida en lo alto y bajo

Tortura indefinible

Que conjura a la locura y los llantos

No te culpo, pero muerto te deseo

Porque a mĂ­ me has inmolado

Juego de plumas blancas

Te balanceaste sobre la estrella errada

Deseos inmensurables

De una razĂłn en llamas

Promesas traicionadas

De ese caballero que tanto aclama

Por tu pasiĂłn y tu osadĂ­a

Yo te salvaré la vida

Me has visto agonizar

En el viento frĂ­o polar

De un vacĂ­o sin igual

Más nunca llegaste a vacilar

Y con crueldad animal

Me arrebataste los recuerdos

Y el poder andar

Cien violines alados haré tocar

En tu negro funeral

Semi-profano descomunal

Entre ilusiones y vergĂĽenzas

Ahí te habrás de ahogar

Cubierto de estrellas

Y arenas de mar

Burdas luciérnagas sin piel trazaron el camino

de vuelta hacia la morada del ojo empĂ­rico

que supervisa todos los lazos del pasado, presente, y futuro por igual.

Es la florescencia –

la consciencia y sensibilidad que se arremolina

inmutable a los chillidos mortales

que elevan pilares de auto-adversidad.

~*~

En la brisa yace el soplo de la sabidurĂ­a de la antigĂĽedad.

En la brisa yace la respuesta a toda pregunta en honestidad.

Es la florescencia –

el vínculo sutil de la claridad balsámica

y el colector de la moneda en ligamentos de alquimia.

“¡La libertad es el modo y el camino!”,

arrancĂł de mi pecho y garganta,

ya que si los sentidos obedecieran solo un deseo,

serían exiliados más allá de los portales de la creatividad.

~*~

Burdas luciérnagas sin piel adornaron la corona de la noche

desde la cuna hasta el cenit,

observando las extrañas formas luminosas en la oscuridad.

Fue la florescencia –

el aliado de cristal que juzgĂł a los espejos gemelos

con el juicio de no ser paralelos para embarcar

en el viaje a través de las tierras impías de la llama infernal.

Image by Yakir from Pixabay

Amidst the ruins of an age dome

‘tween the grossest lordship of shapes most atrocious

and the boundless no-thing pre times immemorial,

let the ghastly, dreadful bump in the day

of insidious accounts in display

rot away and be cleansed in the pyre of black flames

which underlie the nature of supposed verity.

At the crossroads,

now awaken the symbolic coiler of Abyssinian currents,

anticipating skilful will and word and concept spoken.

At the crossroads,

now blink and consolidate the vortex of sight in divine right

with the longing beating heart which has bled and wept in dire light.

Awaken, beloved, and sever the surrogate hand

of petty and presumptuous regard.

Awaken now and behold thyself with fresh insight.

~*~

Will you rise

or will you cave into

the oblivious daytime night?

Image by Lee_seonghak from Pixabay

Coarse skinless fireflies traced the trail back

to the dwelling of the empyrean eye

which oversees all things past, present, and future alike.

It is the florescence –

the swirling sentiency unswayed by mortal screeches

sustaining pillars of self-adversity.

~*~

In the breeze lies the breath of the wisdom of antiquity.

In the breeze lies the answer to all questions accordingly.

It is the florescence –

the collector of currency in alchemy,

and the subtle link of life and balmy clarity.

“Liberation is the way!”, it tore from my throat and chest,

that if all senses obeyed one wish,

they would be exiled

through the stellar gateways of creativity.

~*~

Coarse skinless fireflies adorned the crown of night

from the cradle to the zenith,

observing the strange luminous shapes in the dark.

It was the florescence –

the crystal ally which deemed

the twin mirrors not parallel

to embark on the sail throgh

the infernal lands.

Image by Peter Fischer from Pixabay

I’ve seen the deserts of life –

sear heartbeats transfixed on a dune in time.

But I know where the lost ones direct their cries.

I’ve seen the oasis give balm to the wounded and the weary,

to the queer grim outlanders defying the streams contemporary.

You, who challenged, absorbs the fumes of nightside venom tunes;

you, who burnt by the ardent sun hollow and lonesome,

can’t yet look outside the chamber of confusion; you!

Surrender to the Abyss and be transfigured in the womb

which exalts the soul by virtue of its very core.

She helps you to die to raise you stronger than before.

Image by pieonane from Pixabay

Every spring is a delirious dream,

a fever of singing birds beaking

at the ribcage of the shadow of death.

Every spring, the tales of old fall asleep

to the chiming of wishes

which nature is to defy

the will to apotheosis.

But every spring takes the edge

off the wine of misery.

At one point, no reflex will escape

the awareness and dance of the puppeteer –

being there but forethought

and synergy with the lower machinery.

Thus, every spring is but a glass of alchemy.

Be drunk! Be mad! – Never still.

For the road is long in the quest for eternity.

Image by Hans Braxmeier from Pixabay

Callous angel –

tears made dry –

nourished by the blood

of the children of dawn,

slaves are the portrait

before eagle eyes.

~*~

Evil angel –

walking night –

scales of steel

narrate the path alight

under the marching moon

which conquers the veiling

of torched fireflies.

~*~

Hellish angel –

laughter mad –

spring is the cradle

of rainbow pastimes,

a will o’ the wisp –

a theatre of mirrors

and misty hearts.

~*~

Sovereign angel –

versed in poise

razor-sharp –

enframing the sequence

of eldritch chorale,

hey ho the blade,

the rust and the scent!

Myriad voices

scream in pain,

yet no wave pierces

the simpering

of the pitiless.

Image by ARLOUK from Pixabay

The Muse of Melancholic Fumes

uprooted the glass which incised the eye,

and with decorous hand,

escorted me back to the desert of impious minds.

I breathed in the sunlit sands with insurgent contempt

as the gentle Logos whispered tears of vigor worth to preserve.

My heartbeats raised in sickening waves

upon witnessing the mortification of inculcation

in the currents of fresh water unable to retaliate.

I ached and grieved from the shade of my parasol,

and longed for the maiden whose amphorae made the world flow.

Yet the star did not shine upon the barren land,

and I wondered who appointed the comatose to the front lines.

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 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.”