Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sep 2023
The hour is nigh, my brothers:
We shall come to pass!
The moment is soon, my friends,
When we shall grow weak from the fast!

Do not falter, O rosen-clad wise men of the future and the past!
My Rosicrucian brothers who brandish the Red Rose!
Those who wear thine thorns across thine breast!
Those who wear thine thorns across thine breast!

And so it was said:
“The Black Nourishment found its fruit in the fruit-laden tree which manifested inside the Line.”
And so it seems,
A guiding light shines upon the place where the exalted body of Christian Rosencrantz lies,
Dust-embalmed.
And we— the initiates— have not forgotten our great master!—
The venerable, most honourable, Christian Rosencrantz—
Who emerged with us, from the mud, then died.
Written by
Isaace
377
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems