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Into memory.
Beneath a heavy brow
My continence demands
A soured treason by deific imperatives
I walked through the beatific halls of Solomon and gained untold wisdom,
His was the will by which I sought my placement upon the Witch’s throne.
Through malicious eyes that narrow-sighted gaze entangled me and drew
me forth into the twitching briar. Her gesture reckoning across the void of Sheol
and into my deepest confidence the Witch’s darkness shone.
From there within the darksome tunnels a shadow shuddered against the vision
of a night more terrible than the wicked realm of mist and vague memory. Her wisdom
was the wisdom of wolves and crows. Her bosom was the bosom of demons and widows.
But, light I saw beyond the horrid realm — Valar was the name bore but memory shuddered
still beneath the dismal abyss.
Despite, I clawed and dug into the very bowels of Earth and there buried in deepest night
foresaw all doom and evanescence of the flesh. There, in horrid wilting crystal chambers
not did the glory of Thine light show Nemesis, the witching whore. In the shadow of the absence of light
my only guidance was a manna bore from the coal, it a light not of He above but of the realm of Earth,
kingdom of man. Softly I treaded on through ways of my own making and with my Blood Mother’s sight.
Distance became naught and as myriad eons upon eons passed through a thousand wiltings of stone I
wandered into deeper chasms and galleries. Fearful though I was of passing through the forbidden realm
ever onward I trudged into the shadow of void and past the gateways of the damned and forgotten. Yet,
there in the very realm of the absence of He I saw a single beauty. Across a dismal plain of gnarled horrid
oaks hung a single leaf at the edge of fall. It lingered, life, though life at the very edge of death is life still.
As I delayed there at the shore of the River I saw that Idols were not wrought of gold or silver, nor did
they need their craven eyes by which to see or their twisted maws by which to whisper. Nay, man was not
the maker of idols, such things were the visages of his mother, his endless geasa for the purity and warmth
of the Old Mother’s bosom. And here in a realm furthest from the Sun God’s lingering gaze
An idol was wrought, an idol that withered and died as it were worshipped by a single eye.
But alas, my myopic wanderings impeded not this senseless drawl and bore only confluence
of wisdom and age, a gift given even onto those without my needless wanderings. So, there
upon the highest peak within the deepest dungeon I spoke unto His Eternal Tyranency, “Heavenly
Father I have crawln through death and stone, shadow and hate and found only a symbol
of the whore. Is there naught but her poison become over this mortal realm?”
Then, only silence echoed through the darkened chamber of my mind.
Faltering I ceded my arrogance and pride and found the endless stair,
and it led me ever onward unto His blistering world. Returning
to that which was mine in millennia gone, passed away into ruin and
shadow. The Witch’s throne thrown down into ash and coal..
Undone, tyrannicidal imperatives sown
I lay in wilted shadow, eternal
Beneath a heavy brow
Last edited by Jack Rains : 01-09-2008 at 08:08 PM.
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