That Olden Antiquity

Life fleeting, exponentially…
If not recursed, but threatening the very existentialism,
If not, then this shallowest life, so bleakly fouled with misery,
Shall cease its senseless pursuit, and will gleam no more,
But affront to be boundlessly free…
The pained remembrance…
The waned entrenchment…
This is but an attempt to find means to end that dreaded resonance, which echoes sadness’s and resplendence’s, to find the source of this great sorrow, to end the longing of tomorrow’s eternalising doom.
At peace, finally…into painless inexistence.

The fog rolls in…
The unwavering thunder of glory,
The unparalleled power, roaming.,
Amidst the precipice of the abyss…,
Gales of mists, shrouded in mystery…,
But misery…consumed in full, my being…,
My vitality, loftless and lost amongst and…,
Within the endless fogs, so thick and sightless…
Sorrow overwhelming, tomorrow underwhelming…

Love lost
Darkness fallen
Hearts never recovered
Disdain never faltered
Animus, the essence
Free us, this instance
Into harrowed oblivion, astray…
To this final day, bound, profound…
The profaned place, of heartache and disgrace…
Allot us, this moment under the sun…so glorious,
And feed us, so we may embark upon the sailing ship so endlessly ineptitude to emptiness, again, unto the fray…the sandstorms so compelling, the whirlwinds so perplexing,

The tsunamis so bewildering, and the life with mortality, deeply felt, so waning…
When despair comes, it comes unrelenting, and with full force.
We who worship death, until our last dying breath…from wayward to eternity,
The farther north, the colder forth…
The darker the essence, the starker the quintessential spirit,
Enthralled and consumed by that singular essence, of flickering darkness.

|Love … Death|

Fall to that desecrated ground, and let it be consecrated by his hands, by his will, and in his namesake…
And on that day, every knee bent, and on that day, every countenance failed, and on that day, fear unparalleled, indwelled the spirits of men.
If but one prayer would be answered, I’d ask my reluctance to life be lifted, and the veil of death, be opened… I’d ask thee to take me, to receive me beforehand, my beloveds…
I cannot bear the thought of witnessing those I care about, so inexpressibly, bewept and awash, into death and loftless loss.
I cannot even by your hands, but by your commendation, withstand the heartache which ensues and follows the bleak misfortune that is death, nor can I implore thee enough, to let them outlast me, and mine essence, in this life. 
If you will allot me but one mercy, let it be — death takes me, before it does them; let it be, death consumes me, instead of them; let it be, death becomes me, if arises the circumstance.
Oh how I thought that star was lesser…,
Knowing now, I was not the wiser…,
The sorrow seems inexorable to and from my being…if only the emptiness could be stripped away, how then the longing would lead to disarray…
My love for my parents is inexpressibly great, so much, that it hurts, and painfully wanes and tears at my soul…
I feel so lost, and so incomplete, I feel hopeless, useless and beyond brokenness.  I am the bane of my family, I am that which weighs them down, I am not the solution, I am the problem…

The Maturing Darkness

Hate is inexorable; once it consumes you, it becomes you.
There, deep within the reignless night, I seek solace, and solution, to this barren fright.
Here, felling deeper, the delving deeply, creepily crawling, honed to awing testament, where the cries are forever lit – aflame, lamenting, wallowing and crying…for remand, for salvation, for but soughten freedom from saddened reprobation, and redemption from the seditions so iniquitous…, whereto the sorrow is harrower, and the morrow forevermore ghastly, to the ever-hallowed tomorrows, how harmonic… 

Where, sovereignless, the quintessence of the serpent’s embrace, crowned, affront the frowned countenance, where contemplating the futile pursuit, there ventured, upon the precipice of deadening minds, deafening ears, and blinded eyes…, formless, these shadows, nearer to the antiquating reality of wept meadows, filled with berated sorrows, inexorable, insatiable, the blooming blight, of vastness and tarred remembrance, inadequately–depthless, measureless and weightless…to this, the aboriginal antiquation, distraught and dismayed — to the surreal glimpse of the wistful existence…of tomorrow and eternity more…, amongst and upon’st the greater of us…the meeker, the broker, the haplessly desolated, in spirit, fleshless, and orated, to’ist the paining ordained.

The Objectification of Reason

Know you pain, know you suffering?
Lovers of light have no conceivability of pain, for they are secured in the loving waters of rebored salvation…only that broken, defeated and desolate lover of darkness knows true suffering, only that darkened spirit, of forlorn essence can comprehend the emptiness of lonesome dread…

Curse the lavish lover of life
The worst part, is when that cruelty begets evil, and succeeds…bearing forth wealth, beautiful family, health and prosperity, fame and gratitude…never famished, nor tried, having only fulfilment in their life — even after breaking and ruinously desolating another person, effectively forfeiting their life, plans, futures and opportunities…as robbing the opportunities, stricken hopeless and joyless, with grim permanence…

Tell me, wiser one…
What fairness, or proverbial reasoning is there for such absolute, and negated bleakness?  What kind, or form and semblance of an omniscient and altruistically benevolent god allows evil such flourishing, under ravishingly darkened skies…of weepingly and wearingly distraught inhabitancy?  The creator, how redound; the aboriginal thinker…allows such lamenting and sorrowful existence to flourish?  Gives evil such opportunities?  Why does death exist, having graven principality and boundless authority?  Decadence and dismay, entropy and decay…they reign unimaginable suffering always and forever, ceaselessly, without hope of remand, or reprieve. 

The unconveyable…, the irreceivable…
The depths of such absolute despair: thus laying waste to the spirit, the soul and the flesh…rejection, denial, betrayal and longing…these are the cornerstones of the foundation of misery, ov existence: these are the hallmarks of reprobation, unending…the indeterminable borrow of such unprecedented sorrow, of such lowly defeating malcontent, dissidence and wistful inheritance…there is no hell like this, the suffered so greatly magnificent, thus laid waste to mine dormant soul.  This estrangement, how bereaved; un-reprieved, the fallen fate, the cast ways’, the exiled defeat…theirs is the kingdom of sorrow, eternal…no greater pain exists, than that of the fallen, and desolated ones’.

What do we do?  How is such dealt?
With much repetition and reportorial ceaselessness, of un-acquitted and cyclic tomorrow’s…there is no future, no hope for tomorrow, and no sense or purpose to being, yet…we dread on, we concertedly press on, further, without contestable reason, without purposed quintessence…we live, suffer unto death, and die.  Life is the greatest natural depressant, and death, the most effectual antidepressant, though, and how no matter, the timeless antiquation, resplendent, quaintly stark, immutably, and damming, dimmingly, how faintly dark, this senseless serenade…

This, is that – Bridge so hapless…
The voiding emptiness weighs so heavily upon my soul…no matter the distance stowed…the coldest fog abhors this moor; darkness consumed the crying rivers around me…adrift, drifting longingly downward the endless streams…connectedness is torn, convergence inexistent, and harrowing absence pales this defeatingly broken foe…  So bleak the mistaken haplessness of this toll…waned, alone amidst solemnly brazen toil…  Pay attention to that brooding bush, where’st rooted to the grandest source, the only resource…the tree of life.

The Embrasured Heavenly

Glorior, how bleakly this foretelling…
Amorously, the harrowing emptiness…
Confessedly, the sweetness of the abyss’s preeminence…
Endlessly, falling, as though felled in lightless bliss…
Beholdest, the absence of the absolutist…
Darkly, the embrace of this emptiness…
As though, the sorrow seems bellowing, ceaseless…like downtrodden torrents.

The darkness, so beautiful, and the fading times, so profound…
Are we not allowed one fleeting remembrance of your esoterica, of your infallible nature?
But one eternalizing glimpse…into your reachless, and darkest abyss?
What is love if not a lie?  Love is a falsehood, a promise made to the predetermined and conformed masses…a deceit of prominent allusive dissidence…
Love once had, nevermore to be foreshadowed; loneliness once beheld, forgotten to the dusts of time…

Once lived, always loved…once alone, always destined to be alone.
These are intrinsic truths, absolutes… Life is meaningless, afar, from inception, to times’ farewelling…there is but one truth: the futility of life, contradicted, dismayed to elusive dilemma…from thenceforth the bore pain, unto the suffered desperation of forgotten bane… Henceforth, to death, and nothingness, evermore to desist, this far sided the bleakest truth of the nihilist.

The pained embrace,
The waned remembrance,
The faceless consuming…
The darkest ruling…
Contorted Longing,
Hapless Belonging,
Proudly, Darkening…
Foreverly, Falling…,
Uncontrollably, Felling…

The Haunting

How’t that waned darkness haunts me…
This’t, the bane of light, and essence of storm…
Therefore, the creeping serpent rests not…,
Til’fore, his season of enticement is fulfilled…
Rekindled, the separation eternal, and undefiled…

     To leave it all behind, the things you know, the people you love…it’s all so profoundly sad, how indescribably tragic…in the dismal element of nigh.
     That olden antiquity, the golden goat – the welkin lamb, this far from the precipice of eternity, the prophecies ceaseless, the promise unfulfilling…
     Hare, then – the gates are opened, and the monoliths awakened, wheres’t the flesh meets the grounded soils, and the spirit-world becomes the shadow-world…
     This, uttered to the soul, and the darkening dismay – there is no sorrow greater than this – reprobated solemnity.
     How, forced to longingly await – assured doom and damnation, under crescents of rippling sunshine, atop the forbadem, still to the forewarned resplendence…
     Admittedly, thenceforth, the absolute wallowing, of entropic dissidences, and mournful shores, so darkless…, so…endless;
     Behold, the erected cross of cavalry, and beholden, the laden serpentine of negation, unhallowed – unto suffering, unbarred…
     I tell thee, there is no hell like this, the inescapable terror, and the eternalising horror of the mind – of our fleshed cage, so bounding…, subject to the unknowably higher forces of twilight, where-then boundless, the spiritual quintessence of our felling souls, where agony is unrivalled, and harrowing ordeal, surreal…
     Godlessness, bleakness, this far wayward, of oblivion, and contritely irreversible consequence – to the forbearer of the fallen torch, of depthless dimming, and lightless thundering, thence-where, is the fare told, of abhorred animosity, and subliminal universality? 
     As foretold, hence the leering cold, of fires, unquenchable, and torments, undeniable – for the fallen countenances, but for the graceless abominations of permanence…
     Yet, to this – no matter the western, nor the eastern, the north is rising, and the south, is dying, and so then – go forth, children of wicked remission, wreak forth, pandemonium, chaos, and bring forth rivalrous testimony…for dedicative exaltation to our fathers’ kingdom, enshrined, where-thence, enthroned, the unconquered, is but beset, awaiting, glorious veneration, and grotesque reformation – for the sake’ few, of the chosen, the predestined, and the devoted…
     Inherit, then, this fallen world – raise your golden cup to this – the ripened blooding, drink there forth, from the chalice of heresy…under the defamed ruling, wherest’ unruly, these bleeding skies, with casted dies – for tomorrow, and beyond, the chastening rebellion, of preeminent superiority…hereto then, exalt, and adoringly exhort – the arisen, the second defeat, and the third coming…
     Hear, yea…listen, for the tolling trumpet of our wistful foreboding, where doom is afformed, and fear, unbevelled.  Raise not your heads, stray not your callous countenances, gaze not into the brightest star, felling here, upon, and before us – bore’d witness to this, the trinity’s, absented eminence.  Beheld, the lightning so quickly flashed, and the radiant brilliance, of light shone – and to us, denied…
     Where written, even in the hearts of men, befallen to beasts, creeps, and unrepentant anarchy, where then…our fate is sealed, and concluded – with the finality of inevitability; understand, this quickly approaching place – this lightless space, gehenna – hell and sheol, named thrice, amongst, and before’st the accrowned…, this is hopelessness, this is piteous contemplation, where yearning, and remembrance die not, where torments are unending, and the sorrow, ever-folding, becoming more real, forevermore, revealing furthered suffering, infinitely placeless, having but formless essence, yet acquitted one virtue – that of god and his tragic enmity, foretold, hence-this…     

     Forewarned, the place of bottomless sorrows, and ov bleeding marshes, mudded rivers, and lacking convergence, to absolute disdain, for mankind, and his bornless creator, Adonai, IHYH, and Judea, the Christos;, thous’t the trinity, entwined…unsolvable, unfathomable, irreconcilable, and berating in remand, foreverly bereaved, furthermore, deceived – by the first tragedy, evermore iniquitous, ruinously tattered, retelling…, with seditions untold, and indivisible darkness, undeterminably undiscernible, by the dualist facet of godless deviltry, and darkless might – gloriously redound, haplessly abound, the lightless precipices, of expansion, endless. 
     Then, we entreatingly ask of thee, our lorded silence, our fatherless master, beseech us with wisdom, unknown – knowledge untold, and truths, foreknown…bless-this, endarken our spirits, strengthen our willed resolves, and humble our inhibiting flaws…
     Legions, free us – fleshless monoliths, aberrations, countless…free our spirits from the confinement of encaged and massless flesh, so ridden with futility – bare us, then – unforsaken splendour, estrange us – from the derangement of loveless dispute, and joyless respite, how then…disavowed, within this moment of doubt.
     Therein, hereto, and wherefrom, the aweing embrace, and immutable grace, of denial, rejection and dejection…wearingly tolling in dreadsome horror, whirred real…in somnolence, in solemnity, reaffirming the directionless void, of negation so emptying…oh, darkness – crown me, your encirclement of thorns, hear me – for I am but a lowly servant, to the voiding emptiness of reprobated beckoning…in quietude, under felling thunderstorm…broken, defeated and desolated, succumbed to the lowest point, damned unto eternity, withless reprisal…oh, my beautiful, and accompanying friend, open the door, for this lost soul – free my spirit from the blight of life, adrift this, my mightily contortion, so distortedly broken, though, unwavering – this, final graven place, of restless and ceaseless wallowing, under rotting oaks, and dampening leaves, forgotten to them all – unendingly bereaved…
     How I was slew, likened to your grandest falling, your most eminent insurrection, failed…slaine, in dark, for this’t, the thistle, and the thorn, unbreakable, but adjourned to the stigma, and the breathless sentiment, of Christ, in essence – torn, and battled, exhausted and trialled, bear me one final betraying kiss – for this, the beginning, and ending, conjoined – to irr-remembrance, and blissless, how fenceless…summed quintessence; reborn, then – of both dualistic tenses…of light, and darkness, your dedicated son, with daybreak, and nightmarish wake – knighted, for your sake…unsafe, confound to this wagering stake – convinced of that one final appeal – never knowing, that much was unreal, thenceforth thwarted…into formless and depthless darkness, void of light, blindingly dark…with weighted darkness, making man breathless, so then – beware, always be sober, and take care…for the enemy is alert, so be-weary, and where – watching…unknowably, until the day of wrath come. 

 

Mortuary Drapes… The Ampacity Of Animosity

There is a sombre atmosphere, within that olden funeral home,
Bleakly, how reputedly melancholic, the harrowed testament.
Darkly, how the lights are so dimmed, whence familial lament is present,
Yet, there exists a peace to be surmised, in knowing death, as one knew life.
As the pain has ceased, and is no more present, the greater the release…unwept,
Whence that dreaded day come, what are we, if not humanity’s best, undone?
    The
Thence, this fervent prayer, so solemn, that evening’s heralded mare,
Contest this, the absolutist, the amassed, for the faltered half has all but passed.
Beyond this, the depthless precipice, of despairing existence, seemingly endless…,
The abyss exudes deep within, festering as a hurtful secret, amidst the core of sin.
Lessened then, beheld, the shapelessness of despair, and the weightlessness of time,
If not unhallowed, what are we then, to the quintessence of antiquity and time?
    Great
The sorrowfully stark, found awash iniquitous shores, hereabout,
Beholdest, then, the ripening pear, the souring apple, and the rotting heart.
Amid sour revelry, affronted, upon the envisaged cornerstone of aboriginality,
Where’d accursed, are ashamed, in the bane of glaringly covetous doubt.
Here then, forevermore, amongst the deep, thou bore witness to proud disbelief,
Firs’ unfelling, irreparably recant, contortedly testimonial, to silenced remand.
     White
Fro, then, the fading of the distancing light once so warmly and brightly shone,
Venomously, the fallen, with scorn from the redound hone, without repentance…
Where, spirits are slaine in dark, vexatious, in adorning to the animus of essence,
Tolling, foreverly, these belling whirs of doom, with resentence to conformity.
Defeated, everly, to reprobation, abound the ageless aberration, confound,
Astound, these redoubting, the consecrations decreed, where angels fly not freely…
       Throne
Unimaginably, then, the inevitable came, in abhorrence, so decadently infamed,
Through all odds, and beyond all shallowed meadows, within hapless happening.
Understand this final dictation, and this graven declaration, thus disillusioned,
Behest, of which is life does in due time, surely without hesitation, come to an end.
So what is this contradiction called life, if not means…to an end?
Such is an affirmation, to the ample conceptuary of the morbidst’ mortuary…
                Hostis Humaniis Generis