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"antechamber" poems
There sits a crimson satyr crowned The overlord of underground In left he twirls a steely blight Upon the surface world by night With right commands his vile jest To welcome avarice, his guest The next of sin to him akin To all the wicked souls therein The boiling cauldron antechamber Brimming with his seething anger Pain and sorrow, anguish of One fallen from the grace of love And in its hellish rendezvous A shadow deal to conquer you Is sealed in some ungodly tongue The hook upon which faith is hung
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Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 4:21 AM UTC
Mephisto
i Aloof aback the nether antechamber Abaddon tried to calleth out mine name Aba composition's awoke from smoke Whilst nephilim brutes were left untamed. ii They bit me and they gripped me with Their nail's of poison and polunium whip's Through the old agaric horror play oubliette Obelisk's, of troglodyte monstrosity!!!! iii The nearing was open, yet to far off I felt the crimson color, up mine lung's I coughed Mine calumus pinion's all were eventually lost For I was mocked, as the legion scoffed. iv Scourged I was, as mine back was chopped Like glass bead's hitting a gentle rock They cracked mine sweetly frame, and made a pop Mine soul was dying, mine head was lost. v Yet in the destination of this witching hour Cameth in Gabriel and Michael of all unknown power's They arrayed this hell with celestial shower's They freed me of mine inferno, and tooketh me to the higher sire. ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry.....
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Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 7:56 AM UTC
The higher sire saved me.
Each room has a  glow a basking room, an aural one if they were  circumferences would they arc beyond the horizon? and by unfurling  my imagination why would  I not choose to unloosen my  certainties? a  certain light quality permeates only to  find  a hallway even more intense an antechamber in a  prism.
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Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 6:00 PM UTC
Calling son et lumiere
You visited Darkness on my doorstep A maelstrom of madness behind a cracked clown's mask Your rictus grin cast shadows on my house guests An upheaval of war broke out at gentile dinner party Your heavy booted footsteps echoed in the antechamber As you strode so confident into cacophonious dinner Laying hands on hors d'eouvres and rotting sweet flesh Forcing famine to descend on friendly folk You played with the delicacy of human frailty As you coughed with hollow wet echoes, racking paper lungs Spreading filth and vile pox from woman to man A sickly green pestilence wrapped tendrils around them all And lastly, you stood before me brandishing gloved finger You pointed at my chest and asked me, "Are you ready?" The delight you took from all this rancor, truly sickening You visited death upon my dining table with glee But death won't get what it wants on this cold day Not with heavy heeled boots of war, nor from feast to famine Not with the pox of pestilence, no horse will drag me away You came bearing darkness my friend, But in a quiet valediction, I shall have to ask you to leave
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Feb 26, 2020
Feb 26, 2020 at 6:02 PM UTC
You Came at me with Darkness
fireplace With the child she stands by the fireside, consoling tears fallen branches cannot regrow, save the buds an early blossom all oblivious to the angel standing behind them, a sword in hand lifted high, glory brought forth from a babe's cry the antechamber fills with dread sounds a gurgling no parent should hear her heart was not ready. new shoes In the cool of rain, small sounds magnified new shoes: a callus will form in time it's only mortals meeting in a chamber stiff old air chokes madly games played these days are brutal I will write a letter; the breeze flies. pile One atop another, gawky tries finesse, falls flat pile on pile on pile a range of mountains called my name much like a needle in thick plush pile they never found me tig is lost of flicks and feats possible genius reduced to numbers by idle hands. I don't pretend to know (you), even as you slice up the last quarters I have left.
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Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 3:36 AM UTC
The last quarters
It’s simplicity Its cradle and skill Evil in bed Disturbs your conscience Born worthless No miracle there In delightful fast Storm holds its vine Selling naught Desiring naught Its words      Sounds Its actions         Gestures The beast fears naught Unknowingly knowing Swollen senses Glorious aliment For a crooked tree Its breast bends Its hands bends Insults are loves Wars and artifacts Antechamber of death And says naught Not one will remain       Responds Not one will prevail       Responds Your dust will be eaten By democratic worms Of all brothers Despised by all Beasts fears naught Nor life nor death Who says? Who comes? Who goes? The breeze only alone Eternal White on white Atop the dead walks A single hair of grass Grows, lives dies Beasts do not share terror              Abounds in its symmetry Without choices Alone as the lone sun That from three stars                  It hangs Empty and nothing more All perishes Something In the middle there Alone Only Embracing the extremes The beast has been a beast Over million a trials And even then, nothing in the middle there But the seen Growing to naught Perishing in naught Beasts Aware of this not As ornament the imprint Of its fiery tenure
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Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
The beast fears naught