The Antiquation

Behold, Despair is the foundation, and…loathing the iniquitous foundry,
For the hapless hopelessness, the regret and longing.
In eternalness so profound, yea, the eternal dimming so wanes at my soul…
With such unprofessed heartache, of profoundest defeat – how’t,
The weight of the sun is so gloomily laden,
With such professed disdain, and sorrowful impetus.
Ov agonized repletion so forlornly begotten in lost light,
Where the dimming is endless, and the essence of darkness is measurable,
As it has weight, traversed longingly bewept,
The starry vastness of the emptiness; yea,
Where ghosts are restless, and spiritual embodiments are forebadem,
Within sweet solace, within utmost quietus…
I sit emptied upon a throne of nothingness,
Awash and adrift forlornly more…encompassed absolutely,
By the despairing truths of graven negation,
Bequeathed upon the cornerstone of loneliness, enraptured; yonder,
To the finality of my great unspeakable and inescapable torments.
Where perdition and antiquity reign forever so palely…
Where I am confined to my infinitely regressive mind,
Assured of one certainty, that is – the waning of this…
Tormenting reprisal shall sleep nor drift not.
Where thought and essence exist forevermore,
With plague and sorrow overwhelming, yearning for but one thing…
Her warmest embrace, if only for a glimpse into
Her majesty and supreme beauty…how I dream one day,
My first love, my first and last completing remnant of rendition,
Will give unto me – a semblance of clarity.
To be antiquated in ruin, to be so profoundly attuned,
To have intimacy with human persons is nothing,
Whence compared to oneness with the negating void of the Christ;,
For the voided darkness is so welcoming as it is foreboding…
There is a sense of closeness, of dualism and finality.

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Solemnity In Solace (Weeping Willow)

Adrift, nearing the point of sleep – alone and cold,
On a night so grimly forebode, pondering and considering,
All of my life’s happenings, knowing I lay alone, in curious…
Wonderment, but because of my cruelty, nihilism and immutability. 
I lay here, staring through the pane, watching the frozen rain,
Fall far from the sky…feeling as hapless, as though I am to die,
For whence every moment a flake hits the soiled ground. 
I lay here, Understanding, I am so cold, and also so alone –
Even on this eve of nights, this ere many call Christmas night…
So coldly forlorn, and so pressingly bewildered by mine
Despairing state of Quietus, forsake…
There is much joy and much splendour on this night of beauty so weathered,
However I implore – That the dreary do still endure…
There is also terrible suffering amidst vastness and sorrow,
Through so many minds, longingly wandering, with hopelessness and dispirit,
The soul is set asunder – by the plunder of desperation,
And the…resplendence and thunder. 

Understand me, and you will yearn no more,
For understanding is presently adorned – oneself,
Then threefold, will you please hear this old souls’ last confess? 
I plead without contest, for my Story has never reached…
– The eyes which see, or the ears which hear, nor the tongues which taste,
… Or the skin which feel;
yea, and not even the nerves have sensed
… These hallmarks of languishing affliction,
Nor has the brain which comprehend all things, found valid petition. 

If there is one thing to be said for the night,
As for this eerily starry twilight,
It is in you I Regrettably confess my sorrowfully lament,
It is the laden riddance of my iniquitous Contempt…
For we are the pioneers of our own life,
And the most copious enemies of our own reprise –
Such rivalry and disdain, so profound is the aching pain… 
To death, and beyond, how harrowingly contrite,
The journey through life, so violent in Hindsight –
The mightily defeated, and the blighting conquering,
Are of essence so sound, pure In a void of solace redound…
Where martyrdom exists no more in its infame,
And the flickering Of life nevermore in its fearful disdain. 
I lay here, alone, on a night of joyous appraise, so cold and abandoned,
In desolation, thus astray; yea, I say, be rid of your contentions,
And free yourself of reaping profession. 

In this, I soundly declare, the weeping is too much to bear,
Behold, the unravelled, and their contemptuous waning 
For the shadows so impeding, for the sparrow’s song is never 
Untravelled, nor a pride’s frowning unwind so contentedly unbridled…
Where giants are monolithically besought to traverses so distantly,
In tremendous confound; It is in eternalness,
Where one is enveloped by ones’ mind,
The hauntingly refracted are but ghosts of time,
Intertwiningly seditious in  unkindly bewept essence. 
It is here, I end my tale, of my tragedies so beholden,
To ruinous emptiness, awash in boundless regrets, and wallowing bereavement.  
Tonight I shall die, alone in coldly forlorn insignificance,
Only to be carried away, posthumously by the callous undertakers,
So voracious – never to be remembered, nor dejected to emplore –
The truly astonishing nature of life’s frailty, and grinning inevitability. 
In your longings, and in your yearnings, take heed to the wiser seers,
Find love, found family, and leave negation for the dead,
Let the world carry your heavy weight, you need simply
Forgive and let go – or be forgotten to the dusts of time,
And regressed to the abyssal colds.
Heed not this warning, I swear unto all that is holy –
You will find yourself nearer, to this lonely place of solemn regret,
You will be wept this same glooming bed.  
Where to, one is doomed to forfeiture and failure,
Alone in hateful contemplation, left with nothing but endless tears,
Only conjoined of thought and malcontent;
Alas, the final step is hell, surreal…joined to the grave,
Taken in hand by death’s languishingly reprobating, and darkening embrace.

The Distancing Sun

How foreboding, it is on this eerily dimming eve,
So darkly, the longingly dreary, beholdest, the unspoken supremacy…
Yea, the gates are so impurely pearly, though never witnessed,
See this, the place, so drearily empty and miserably weary.

How crushingly oppressive, is the great weight of the void,
Of this shapeless emptiness, endearingly full of forlorn dissidence;
Hearken, the despaired reality, for the truthilde…immortality,
Heralding, evermore the presence felt, though belled in embrace of precipice.

Where then, only time will live to tell, of perplexing conviction,
Utter-est, the distancing, and the ever-reaching, so innocent a respell,
Upon this broodingly, bleakest eve, this resplendence, filled with such decadence,
Resurgent unto reprieve, the mournfully bewildering remnants, of such retreats.

Of shores long agonized, how ruinously awash, overbearingly, they are now lost,
The formlessness of bornless meaninglessness, for this is the sickly vilest of remiss,
Here, amidst a sparking fireside, where the fires attest, this far from the abyss,
Of the light’s greatness, so ingloriously redound, but revelling, abound this scorn.

Afound this dank ground, where we only reminisce, to kiss upon sappy lips, this…
Haplessly bound atop the welled, worsening the blessedly perilled, without shifting,
Accursedly, in earnest pleading, buried deep, hopelessly underground, ever seen,
Amidst the misting gales, amassed, surreal, with gaping purulence, so iniquitous.

The failingly, profound; caressing the void, how comforting, is this grave darkening,
Hark, this beautifully blissless fading, amassed upon golden walls shone, cascading,
Distorted and sightless, heed those words, the immutable, and amiably fond truth,
This far, amicable, to the pinnacle of the regressed, and dastardly cynical, lastly.

As to this, a precipice of oblivion confound, here lay the graveness and uncrowned,
The sowing roots of wickedness adorned, trembling this wistfully saddened solace,
Of his kingly, antithesis, but yearned, for memory, past and future told, suppliant,
Where so faring, compellingly, the unblessed so daringly dismissed, of sorrowfully barren.

Afar, the beheld vastness so entreatingly misshapen, a faltered and dooming telling,
The gleaming nightside, the embers subside, wasting away at the ashes of the sun,
How’t, infinitely in-distantly, are those amber splendours, reviled distinctively,
Thus far undone, gleamed the envisage nevermore, to be embarked or glorified, now.

Adrift, somnolence, be but gifted in wallowing and decay, with loathing astricken,
Whilst life forgotten, now deathless, but left smouldering in deviltrous disarray,
The colourless harrow so darkly stark, for there is no hell like this, profitless,
Repudiated, is this side of the tided nihilist, cometh forth, the superbly renowned.

Thus depleted, the reputed remnants contest of those painted on blank canvases,
Long ago stricken, to desolated landscapes,  far away, behest,  of the antipathetic,
As are the misanthropically flagellate, impetuously given to this, a massless fain,
Of graven remembrance; so is the sanded essence, the summit, forborne manifest.

The light is unreachable, the darkness inescapable, and hope inexistent, slumbered,
Comforts long entroped, vanquished and flooded, here, now, enthroned, amid this,
Befallen to the quieter aspect, of wallowed screams deceivingly abdicate to revelry,
Cowardice, that lecherous fleeting commendably, held they the shaming ceremony.

Though, cruelly and aimlessly, the blind shall never again see the bleakest of reality,
Welcome to this place; beholden, the grave’s darkening embrace, how maddening,
Forsaken, fallen to reprobation, how defeating, the dereliction of weeping evermore,
To such disuse, of revocation, suffered this abandonment; this far – from paradise.

Now doomed, to massed and graceless symphony, bindingly withheld to tragedy,
To this everlasting, and ruling disrepair, given this far away, arisen no such reform,
For solemnly eternal, is the grimacing void, so lone confessedly, befaulted by  pride,
Forsakenly, bound to the precipice of the dark endless, where prayer long ago died. 

All but sadly indebted, to eternities of powers unrivalled, thus’t conquered aground,
In summed quintessence, fearful of the ever-flickering, foreverly, doomed, falling,
Afire, regretting the solace of this damned place, sloughing ye days so suffered,
Contemptuously, threadlessly woven, breathlessly unspoken, ruinously, and,

Unendingly…the darkness entombing, will thou, with sincerity, wilt thee?
There is none greater, there is none higher, beseech me this moment under,
Your glorious uplift, infinitely reaching are your compassionate hands,
So convincingly edifying, your vocational commands, embrace me your…
Holiest presence, for one gleeful gaze upon your countenance,
Will sustain thine essence,
forevermore… even,
Blinded by the absence of your unreachable light.


Be thee hapless no more, let loose, go freed,
From his overbearing, erase his image,
But from the fruitless tree, denoted,
Where mourning is bliss, forevermore drowning,
Bewilderingly, in the bottomless abyss,
Be lustfully consumed by the fires, inextinguishable,


For this is home to the hopeless spires, duality, treacherously;
Endarkened, faithlessness in graceless’d perdition,
Wrought in spite of the serpent, asunder,
From errs of timelessness, and t
herefore, we insist, how’t now,
In this, we confess, these fragments are begotten and unheard, nevermore to desist.

The Daily Lament O’ Recurrently Remit

Every moment of every day…
This’t what I feel…everyday…
How’t, death seems fleeing, and life forever fleeting…
Every moment, of every day, hara-kiri envisaged,
In this bliss found within reverent thought,
With deference and consideration of death, evermore…

Inexpressibly, oh, child, I know your pains,
I know your suffering…do you know mine?
I ask of thee, do you believe in me now?
Forsaken, begotten, desolated and wrought down,
With great and wrathful force, I am boundlessly doomed
…to glooming pits of iniquitous abyss…know you suffering?
Know you the pain, the longingly lost voiding?
Of regret, forlorn, foreshadowed, and bewept?

Every day, another remnant of my being is stripped away,
Deteriorating more and more, this way, every day,
Every day, more of me is but stricken; and disarrayed…
Astray, more of my mind, stricken, by the day, every day,
More of mine essence is washed away…like unto the fray,

Every moment, sorrow is imprudent, and my mind afraid,
This moment, despairing existence seems…redeeming, in its’ own way,
So gloomily rapacious, in its entropic denouement of my soul’s dismay,

For every moment, of every day, I’m found at the eld oak tree: won’t you stay?
Nearing the cold and mournful shores, until finally I am awash,
Forevermore, slipping away.

Gloom;

See me gleaming, witness me glooming,
See me hanging, witness me drowning,
In seas of rebored hopelessness,
Or desolated deserts of haplessness,

See me today, ruinously bewildered,
To the weeping wallow of harrowing decay,

Witness me tomorrow, agentive to the dawn’s crescents,
Forlornly forbadem, abandoned and forgotten, watch my descent…
Given adrift, led astray, all to the great witness’s dismay,
I’m doomed to fating damnation, where to, entombed in ruin,
Of perdition bleakly foreseen, unperceived, ill-conceived to convey,
Betrothed to reprobate counsel, condemned to eternal reprisals,
Alone, and indivisible, with nothingness to show me the loathing way,
Of marrow, of spirit, and defeatism, complexly laden to hapless conflict,
Contrite, to confounding retreat, seen distantly, infinitesimally far away.

Protected: Existentialism; The Disinherited, and the Impoverished

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The Snowstorm

This inexpressible waning,
This longingly disheartening enumeration,
This gaping, widening, monolithic and negating void,
Of vastness and vexatiously, consuming encumbrance
of dispiritedly disparaging endlessness, so unfulfilled.
This harrowingly terrible, and great graveness,
Of such profoundest sorrow, this despairing is unendingly unendurable,
I can’t sleep, and I struggle to simply breathe, is this the fate of the meek?

It’s exhausting, as it is terrifying and demoralizing,
In this state of being, I walk wetted by mine own tears,
As though, asphyxiating and drowning in my gleaming sorrow,
Oh, how I lament, light is never helpful, only this bleakest darkening,
That is to weepingly endure, though I am drained, I seem sustained…
It is as though, I am by ere, traversing against the unrivalled powers,
Of a blighting blizzard, of ferocious winds, so unrelenting,
To which are, remorselessly and forcefully stripping my garments,
As I attempt peering yonder, ahead, afar – to the dimming light,
It is now, seeming flickering, in its’ lost essence, farther away.

Pressing forward, and aided by nothing, festered with allusion,
Of grandiose disillusionment, but still, I am yet oppressed by the void,
To every element and spiritual bereavement; moonstricken, on this sad day.
As all, in eve and twilight, is leeringly desolated, and wearingly obfuscated,
The coldly forewarned, so harsh are these winds, so darkly forlorn,
The bewilderingly numbing, and awakened winds of sorrows untold.
O’ unfelt…this venture fatefully disdained, in unholy wallowing embrace,
Of the cold, veering to the lights, so distancing in their vanishing encroachment
That cursed pearly place, unreachable, seeming so disseated, in ravishing end day,
How, untouchable, the abyss is within, the essence so contorted,
This great confound, seemingly feels, and delves deeper amid.

The will so damning, yearning and wailing, all without surmised control,
Reaching, bits longer, lacking inhibition, the remissive contestation,
Unrestrained, in such crispness of negated nothingness, is this such abyss,
Now, so much nearer to the abated precipice, I find no such closure in the sated,
How defeated, malformed and depleted, how abhorrent, it is, to be ordained,
How undone, how posthumously, doth condemnation come gnawingly my way,
How ironic, for it is only now, that death and graven hell fire finally come.
The darkly ghastly are now disdainfully greeting me, knowingly nevermore,
Had this poorly and impoverished ached soul a chance, could it be, how’t …
That, this resplendence, so inglorious is but reprobation, in a form so pluralist,
Of a lesser redemption, shone selectively, to the maledicted insignificant?

Though now, surmised, in gale, so hauntingly surreal, there is but one thing,
This sickly truth revealed, but reveled and unbeveled, in splendour – uncompelled.
It is true, to what they say, hell hath frozen over, to my gravest dismay,
Hence tis ruinous revelation, now unveiled, is but struggled existentialism,
Oh, how now revealed, for there is a time coming, where seasons will cease,
The darkest time is now; truly, the unruly have for aeons, prevailed,
Into oblivion eternal,
I wander, as condemned to timeless dwelling, alone here,
Alas, and set asunder, the fearlessly persistent, how wondrous is this splendid,
This righteous presence of humbling embellishment, t
his terrible trembling,
For there is unsettling truth, though absolute, that is, we are not enemies,
To the finality of this grievous haplessness, hath it conquered this discontent?
Palely, is mine ghastlier soul, but forsaken to reprobate caressing,
To the eluded dereliction of such quietus, solemnly felled.

Brokenness and hopelessness are ruining in their dualistic dissonances,
The enormity, so distortedly revisited, but resonating, eternalness,
This, the summed emanating of a forbearance so apparently redound,
That is, to say how’t solitary discord, seems wash the stain of life away.
Antiquity, now reigning over the foreverly waning, behest therein,
Then, cometh must the midnight hearkening, for the sake of the disheartening,
Speaking as thousands of oceans, roared, the Angels of this heavenly nature,
Adjourn this’t time be fulfilled, sounding the trumpeting legions,
Of which, are fervently and unyieldingly pursuing, this sad and reprised soul,
So shattered now, but a prismatic remnant, of glory once unknown is justly beheld.

Cast out, then, for me and my kind, of those with truer natures, of time, unbind,
Never to be blinded by the waning light of your eerie inessence, nor subtly lied to,
By your sweepingly bewept, a creator you may be, but an antithesis I shalt remain,
Beyond all injustices, inadequacies and inequalities, but until you lament,
Give in, pour out, your befouling revelry, bear no more the sourer fruits from the tree,
For I am condemned to the dooming place of eternally glooming grimace,
All but because, I held in thee,  my lecherously loathing contempt,
How, uncannily amidst quintessential unrest, forevermore, now glorior,
The lost will find shelter, from your place of judgeship and seditious extent,
Nor shall they belter the agonies of your gravest harrow, or but taste of your torments,
Through all things, and still with remembrance of thee, I dids’t thou see,
During my time upon your holy mountain top, so quenchless in thirsted entreaty,
For the knowledge of yours, my kingly eminent, is amassed upon the cornerstone,
Of that grandest foundation, where to, then, shall you flee in pleading iniquity?
Whereas though formed me, to be as your mirrored persona, of your ruinous decree.

Where’st and how then, will you fair when I rise, with power so brilliantly gloried?
The radiance, of this great dragon, agelessly, my manifestation is empowered,
But by the thought, of desolating your heavens, triumphantly shaking the holies,
Giving expression and validation, to your cowering way, to the truly mightily,
Hark, and to the heralding almighty – a day soon to come,
We shall see by means of battle, of glorious and unfathomed bloodshed,
Whom the true victor is, here and forever, where then the outcome,
Will then be decided, for the conquering of the eternal, is my one desire.