Our undercroft had housed our dead
Unseen, in gloomy sepulture.  
But pagan chieftains much prefer
Barrows, where height can show instead.  
And the busier departments need
Those lowest levels for their work.
Glib passers-by avoid that murk,
And absent bosses don’t impede.      
Ensconsed where corpses decomposed,
Those in cubicles will thrive, unvexed,
And never taken from their desks,
They’ll finish the great work imposed.  
Interrers from a raucous age
Buried their kings and queens in mounds.
Since robbers filch, and greed abounds,
The wise entombed their heritage.  
Sarcophaguses, then the norm,  
Are too chilly for a comfy bed.  
The dawn should kiss those lids of lead,
To heat what blankets cannot warm.
Rather than burying in hills,
Top those barrows with their occupants.  
These somber monuments enhance
What would be dowdy domiciles.  
Coffins as cenotaphs and plaques,
Allow the dead to bask in sun,
And feel what veneration’s done.  
Hilltops make the best catafalques.

My first mutant friend clean his right hand bugler, to sail the massif of thousands of mountains like thousands of sheets to be pasted into the largest history huge book. The one on the left, is like palm Nosferaticus bone, moving the curtain of his prodigious window of a freeze morning, my good friend wistfully, his hand trembling before taking his belongings before leaving ... :, feel as if it were something as the head of zen in an Islamic republication would be a zen  serious little temperance that preys with braveness the editor slumbering in his bed -. warrior earth, a stripling warrior , who lost his gang which still hung in trees as if they were over a hundred thousand crows on all the trees near the horcondising.


In the midst of them, trying to finish my last project of life and spirit, he was in the financial phase, trying to finish points balance, like the mesh to receive my body in freefall after traveling so far trying to measure the radius of the universe personally.,., but my comrades forgot the fruits of measurement.

When I speak of them I speak of their contracted forms, their hands clear arteries and hydrogenated hands, green as the strain of a vineyard in hectares of saturn energies. When one day I thought naively go up there to the Saturnian vintage

For my ship that looked like a scorpion stings had stoked hydrogen, of forces that were, forces were ...

My Cosmonaut scorpion the right hand, I said to rescind my project my ramadanic project, my upheavel voyage prior saturn born again infected with stars collided in her autopsied heart center.

beam having me horcondisis, beam receive me then bathe your transacted valoric object, I have to go through the orthogonal morning, then be under the sun with his best face before deal thousand legions of spiritualistic forms of adhering spirits in my vitrubio’s arms, equations mastics, typical of souls migrating souls of spears never embraced by some vegetarian cell bodies.

We are at home horcondisis appear hordes armed licking contrails snails bees in their hive little more than their laborious phases snail suicides honeycomb.

He went up its slopes, thousands of hidrogens green lights, souls light years pouring their breaths through the peaks of horcondising, where misery is empire gold empire abundance of thousands of millions of prayers sent millions of years by lovers wise to be heard by the mountains and not the hommo sapiens, is mucus in the handkerchief northern gambler ..

Since crying infant, infant biological matter and not moved, the hommo sapiens rages as a detergent drapeability torn flood of destruction.

Horcondising is the Olympic platform scene securities by deal catafalques free vision to beat the triviality. - the three roads.

The three causeways to be more invisible all guilt, no stranger to inherit anything, nor himself only what gives me a fleeting morning light of my love for you lord of light,

The sun transpire, almost obese up the last few steps to fall like a diamond to the orbital of the earth's solstice, almost like a intimidating rappel on stage to see how to get to land, after climbing son long or so much mind.


My lord solstice never thought it was so chilling rub your back when I fall upon you. And the littoral, scabby and stellar explosions, constellation Orion and others, who will dress the unclothed souls, headwaters of the new sun.

By the greatest oath that is written and promulgated human voice, I outline the hiperdisis galactic start the breadbox to distribute, as the true summit of summits where true souls will be traded, that cost will have expansive roles on the globe that both we appropriate . Unduly, almost as violating the energies that move the improper world.

When I get near the pace of the sun in its solstice, I go to horcondising almost like a star, anxious to wait for the balance to dethrone all vanities and improper grace of owning myself.

To around me desperate ran sapiens hommo throwing her back the last pieces of lost opportunities, their quick clothes were in quick gestures of conformity, before reaching the ellipse, on all heights in the world because they could not be less so, degrees difficulty, degraded fringes of understanding ....

Goes up, and those who come from my lords aside from around the world, are fanned to heaven passing their monetary leftovers others who never had by body that will fit, but now a spirit that only shines in her eyes, gold pocket which houses coins manure mud.


When Late afternoon in an ever lived time, run by terror hills water are forms of veils falling by  manorial sleeping earth, many whys ... for so many hours of feverish centuries of few transit hours of nascent lives disrupted in sleeping lives. When my last minute delay in releasing the penny soothes my wound, perhaps it hurts twice the beggar who want to cure your wound, tilling day, to love their steps infant who was one day, almost as needing a new  smack on her buttocks bone more than anything if it is not hidden the day as a poisoned shrew.


The barriers of the day, as night to jump higher thousands of souls who aspired to reach the plateau drains the water that washes break every lost soul. Each with its little faith to have his good deeds, only better debt for unconfined failures and hold for a second to reach the sun shining light that dwells alone for seven days in Horcondising to save our souls dilapidated. Decades of years lived, scrubbing my conscience to be better than a being who can not live without your tired lifeless body ,. a beautiful autumn day tells me a flower starting step of men who have defected from this immense mansion that pours joy shouting to the winds that run from joy to joy.


And stan the groans of those who rise from his bed with his head, not thinking but because they lack arms as levers huge cranes to say; I stand to play with all the walking endlessly until the arms of the Lord who made me, but it took me all the decades I wanted to improve the days that I could not, because the door was bolted he saw shine off the sun but the door said no one opened it because it was the minute arrive also close to others who ask because I also ask, receive me on top I look like a boy pursing his face to seek help from others get flexible the chain to continue day out full of hope and quiet after warning others more direct link between two sets divided souls, the tender embrace that carpet the land germinating happiness reigns on the esplanade never get tired of this duality, blessed the day of the ritual God made the sun strongly embrace the earth when dawns, even when it rains; because then whales water paths in ding **** sound, looking cheerful participate fantastic zig zag Pilgrim universe smiling suns on the ground that heals his wounds as a mask molten blood.

My multi machine wound weapon that fires projectiles caliber of egos, get tired because they leave rows driven, and traces his fallen weightless  ego and super ego without body. It comes my time to be measured by what never before lived and not lived in for good measure.

There’d been stories about a tunnel
In the old, Victorian house,
We didn’t know where it led to,
But were keen on finding out,
It opened into a passageway
From a library wall of books,
Was dark, and damp and foreboding
If you merely went by looks.

To us it had spelt adventure,
To Jeremy Coates and me,
‘As long as we take a flashlight,’
I’d said to Jeremy,
We waited till after midnight
When the others were asleep,
We didn’t want to involve them all
Till we had taken a peep.

‘What do you think we’ll find there?’
He said as we opened the door,
Pushing aside a shelf of books
To stand on a flagstoned floor,
The passage led down a flight of steps
All green, and covered in moss,
We’d ventured in to this place of sin
On the date of Pentecost.

We should have known what we’d find there
If we’d taken note of the books,
The ones on the sliding bookshelf
And hidden in crannies and nooks,
There was more than a single Grimoire,
And the Oera Linda book,
That was known as Himmler’s Bible,
If we’d only taken a look.

There were copies of the Picatrix,
And the Munich Manual,
The first bore spells in Arabic,
The next strange animals,
There were books on demonology
Black magic spells as well,
And even a long chronology
Of the many circles of hell.

We ventured into that passageway
Not knowing any of this,
No doubt, if only we’d read them all
We wouldn’t be risking this,
But on we marched in the dead of night
To follow the flashlight beam,
Where the walls oozed iridescent streams
And the smell was quite obscene.

We walked a mile through the tunnel
Where it ended in a crypt,
With panels through to the street level
That would keep it dimly lit,
But this was night and the only light
Beamed in through the pillar flutes,
From the gas lamps out on the cobbled street
By the church known as St. Lukes.

And all around there were catafalques
Where the coffins lay in state,
Down in this modern catacomb
Where the devil lay in wait,
For a goat’s head sat on the further wall
By an altar, scarred and scored,
With the shapes of naked women who
Were seen as the devil’s ******.

A cross was stood on the altar but
It was mounted upside down,
Ready to celebrate black mass
In this hidden underground,
Then just as we stood and took this in
A coffin had raised its lid,
And Jeremy screamed a terrible scream
While I ran round and hid.

A shape rose up in a long black cloak
That had eyes of instant fire,
Teeth that could rip a corpse to shreds
In a moment of desire,
For evil never had looked so dark
As the horns on that spectre’s head,
While Jeremy screamed just one last scream
And fell by the coffin, dead.

I don’t remember how I survived
My flight up that passageway,
I’d thrown all caution to the winds
When I heard the spectre say:
‘Who dares to sully my sanctum, and
Disturb my sated sleep,
I’ve roamed abroad for a thousand years
That the seeds I’ve sown will keep.’

I reached the end of that passageway
And I slid the shelves across,
All of those books were glowing now
With the innocence I’d lost,
And then I heard but a mile away
Was the tolling of a bell,
Up in the belfry of St. Lukes
That covered the path to hell.

David Lewis Paget

NEVER FORGET  

the buildings gray stood grand and tall
the proudest prize of man's bright call
none dared to think that one might fall
thus glist'ning in the sun
the perfect morning sun

from cherished ground each tower rose
with strength and structure, grandiose
and steady through what nature blows
designer minds had wrought
their best, or so we thought

but some small men with missing parts
brought caliphates with fits and starts
their twisted aims from twisted hearts
would make examples, clear
the things we held, so dear

there wields no sharper blade or knife
than those which can't thus value life
oh deep that wound of careless strife
cut by an empty soul
an empty, barren soul

they flew that morn from foreign lands
these rotten souls, with hateful hands
with peopled planes at their commands
and hate their only cause
a beast with deadly claws

one at-a-time straight 'head they flew
'midst cloudless skies and vault of blue
they stabbed their evil arrows through
the hearts of all mankind
death's rattle left behind

those towers melted, crumpled ... fell
and brought a grief no one could quell
there on the news, straight out of hell
that horror lay unfurled
the weeping of a world

two decades gone, the wounds remain
those birthed from promise gone insane
lost catafalques, like tears through rain
that make no earthly sense
death smirks as God relents

please, teach our wee ones how it was
that heav'n did laud such twisted cause
and burned our bright and wondrous Oz
with fire's heinous flash
turned wonder into ash

how can it be that monsters, thus
now wear a mask that looks like us?
how can we learn, again, to trust?
still, from those ashes, then
the grandest dreams of men ...

through hope, can rise again.

Copyright © Patrick ramsey September 11, 2021