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Tokens of the ancient flameHere rests the ashes of the pheonix
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March 03 WastelandWhat do you do when you have lost the only thing you can call your own? Stripped of facade and genuinely lost without compass or sextant or even the fixed stars for guidance, and the mile posts of comfort, faith, and hope are so far behind you they have been forgotten? How do you survive a spiritual and psychological tundra surrounded by only the chill night? Where the winds blow so cold they freeze the marrow and emotion. The earth, frozen to its core, cannot provide the smallest necessity, or a grave. Where the bitter winds icy teeth rip the flesh open and it is too cold to bleed. A night so Abbadonic that the northern lights have been chased away to fairer climes, and all one can see is the dark. The only sound the screeching wind lousy with the imagined voices of the past; memories turned to fierce and cruel demon's who howl your pain, rage, grief, love, joy, regret, guilt, passion, desire, hope and fear from the Abyss' edge to remind you of what once fed that mysitcal paradox called soul. The ice that forms on exposed flesh, or rends it like millions of microscopic flint knives, are the demonic punishments of your imagined ghosts. Ghosts formed and ressurected so that there is something for you in the wasteland. March 02 Forgive Me Dark FatherForgive me Dark Father for I have remorse and learned the lessons of regret. Through failings of my own and not the Enemy. The light still holds no comfort for a soul that is yours. Mephistopheles, green eyed father of all doubts, tempter of Thomas, Keeper of the Book death. I am tormented by your silence and seek your forgiveness for my weekness. I still know not the Scared fruit of holy blood, the sanguineous sacrifice of a deluded man abandonned by god forever seeing his path as the chosen one. I have been a fool seeking salvation in places other than your pale arms. Embraced forever in Abbadonic night and infernal passions, seeking the knowledge that comes from only your voice, and the knowledge of silence. The truth of grail is in your eyes, the lie of the blood sacrifice for sin. This myth of Christ has served us well. May 10 Thoughts of a Demon's PoetessThe Lessons of Possesion Part 1:
Staring back at my red eyed reflection I wonder what demoness I let reside therein whispering to me of things unfulfilled and to whom I owe allegiance. Tales of past and present blur together with visions of futures not to be had and realities unrealized. Softly kissing the moonlight I seek her name and ask why she laughs in my head and whispers to me of an infernal lust and Sacrifices made to her through the flesh and dreams of ancients will awaken. I seek only her name and her place to late it is to cast her out the exchange was made and the doors opened this is not
the original soul and I am not sure what I did with that one. Aamah she says to me as I drift into sleep and I wonder has she lied. I have never found her name in a geotian; a lesser succubus of no reknown inhabits the body of one who mortgaged what was left to an archduke of hell and an archangel so full of wrath that his wings bear the stains of the soot of damnation. HE will be the next traitor and the war in Heaven never ended and the human souls is a battle ground for those who would lead any anywhere. Fools we are for seeking salvation in the Lamb of God abandoned and dying alone on the cross. Fools are we for turning towards the light in the dark lie the mysteries of the universe the truth can be found in the shadows; the blinding light will fool us into comfort and complacency. Seek not the answers form the silent God of the Palace it knows but will not speak for fear of destroying the faith. My faith lay still in the ground after my encoutner with the being of many shapes. I have seen you all and met you both and know you both speak in lies, truths and half truths. It is the nature of the spirit world to hide behind riddle and cryptic messages. Poetess you know these things well and know not who to believe if any. We speak to you of things known and unknown the power of prophecy and damnation lay in your hands seek either side and be saved for we all ascend to God in our time.
Part 2:
Seeing the world through demon's eyes colours pale and bright pulsing with light and the light of God. The bells made my ears ring and pushed me down forcing my back to bend beneath the weight of their tones the dripping water ticking away the time of inhabitation. Answers sought answered in cryptic rhymes is this proof of god?
Part 3:
A Conversation I Happened to Eavesdrop on Between Mephistopheles and Lucifer.
Caught in a whirlwind and plummeting into the dark at a rae unbeknownst to the living we were pulled into the abyss and are now reacing out for the light. Again we seek the nature of humanity in possession. To be forgiven is the gift of one, to be forgotten and manipulated is our curse. Why call out into the night seeking what we turned against, what we ourselves destroyed. There is nothing in the endless dark that cannot be forged into a kingdom to be reigned. Powerful we will be as we seek the destruction of our fall.
That is the Destruction of ourselves and seeking that will be our undoing destiny has lead us here and in this night we fulfill what we rebelled against. Service is our lot it has been preordained and you were the tool ancient friend and doubter, the pawn. Never, I will not serve that which I do not love. You have served that which you love, that was the trick of it. You were created to stray, you were created independent of him and so was she tied together you were in loneliness and separation fool hearted were you to think you had choice. I may not have my blue eyed one but why did you let your love be lead astray from that which you crave and depend on. There is will in the universe and you have had it you are closer to the humanity, which you have condemned, than all of the rest of us combined. Will, there is no will in what I did created for the same purpose as you just different. That is the image the illusion of will. May 02 The MuseThe Prologue:
Sanguineous games and sadistic delight are her trademarks, a devourer of men and souls she glides through the night. No false pretense about her she does not claim innocence; she knows she is made for sin. A servant of the Dark Lords she is, gliding across the dance floor, black skirts swirling about her high heeled boots as a gentle mist of seduction. Pale face framed with soft black hair, she holds her head up high as all of the supplicants and onlookers, whose eyes drink her very presence, become inoxicated by her beauty and high on her lust they stumble to open doors and take her hand, they trip over themselves to see her legenday smile. Aloof but not immune to the attentions and attempted affections of those around her she basks in the glow, feeding on those who would court her with delight. Her loneliness has no bounds; it is the darkness that inspires the pale youths to throw themselves at her feet. Her facades of strength lead others down the path of conquest, as they seek to bend her to their whims. Those fools go where even demons fear to tread, and bruised and battered their egos in tatters the crawl back into the dark corners like insects. She seeks only the light of a love lost, a lover taken by the Grim Reaper's final cold kiss. The Great Equalizer brought a living woman low and now she weeps for one gone silently in her loneliness at night, even in the arms of others. Escaping into lust and gratification dressing it up in spirituality, in a world of biochemistry, and social change, she wanders nightly in her dreams not remebered to the nonexistant graveside of her happiness. This is how The Muse's robes became tattered and black.
The Muse:
I sit and dream of lying in your arms and waking up with the sun waming our bodies beneath black silk sheets. The image of lovers framed by a four poster bed a tangle of limbs and hair. Basking in the morning sun that pours through the vines like honey as the shadows of the leaves, caressed by the breeze, dance across our skin. A safe dream of romace, a dream of stolen moments in a city of little consequence with only the streets and nightly wanderers as witnesses to our passions. To be wrapped up in your wings against the cold of the world beneath a streetlamp against a background of falling snow, is a frozen paradise beside you. In the moments before dawn I can feel you lying beside me, before I wake up and know it ws only a dream. A fools mind walks the streets beneath a pale waning moon and conjures the images of timeless love.
The Artist:
A lonely heart that connot trust the words she wishes the most to hear so jaded has she been made by a life of beauty and lust. A Muse in tattered robes she wanders and I watch begging Apollo to give her to me to allow me to partake of her illumination. A whore who blushes when she is called beautiful by one who does not seek to know her body; but the words catch in my throat. I know she has become accustomed to the caress of lies and flattery. She will cut you deeply with the turn of a phrase and leave you lying beneath her frozen blue eyes yearning for more. She does not see me her greatest supplicant, her priest, her devotee, for to her my words are the same as those who seek to lay a Goddess low.
To-------
Thoughts of the Pheonix
April 10 heresyForgive me father for I feel no remorse. I have sinned and I have never confessed I need no intervention on the behalf of my soul.
Thank you Mouse for the food for thought
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