#diesirae
Trapeses strung on Shakespare lines;
vivid like the richest wines.
The arts unite and intertwine
in stunts of cruel dimensions.
Trembling hands in steady hold,
tears behind a mask so bold.
Go for silver, go for gold;
the thirty piece temptation.
Hazard games in clairvoyants’ house,
a faceless crowd he can’t arouse.
-Another jester, another Faust
or another fallen angel?
Unimpressed, the shroud of frost
between him and his viewing host
blurres his polished contraposte
to an unknown, misplaced stranger.
“A twist and spin performed so well
from a drape-framed prison-cell
a droplet from an empty well
to myriads of eyes.
A face so wet with silver tears
behind the smiling mask he wears,
like gems behind a dragon’s lair,
drop diamonds where he cries.”
Irae, the jester of the court,
the one and only of the sort,
knows his tricks are running short,
and whispers; “come what may”;
All comes down to his final jest,
the only unseen joke that’s left;
his very own zoolock-life-theft,
and thus then, dies Irae.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 6:19 AM UTC
𝄞 am dorian
mors et vita, dark keys waning
fingers rabid, ever-straining
mallet judges before time
sinking underneath the chime
beneath tolls.
dies irae, schism sprouts,
warmen strike through writhing crowds
"before the Lord, all boweth!"
living corpse begging for death,
very soon.
judicium, cattle whine,
stumble between blood and wine,
serpent swords swallow their flesh
floundering through wails enmeshed,
hell awaits.
“vox humilis, mighty God
save us from this racking sod,“
choirs of women sing their dirge
cobblestones reflect the surge
of ichor.
aeternum, heaven’s eyes,
hidden from all this demise,
laughs entwine from plagues of crows,
rats scuttle through the throes
amen. :||
Dec 24, 2025
Dec 24, 2025 at 7:02 AM UTC