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Peter Watkins Jan 2015
In the beginning, man lived in darkness.
Primeval monsters roamed the world, killing countless.
In the everlasting blackness, which man thought to be eternal,
no one was ever safe from the life's endless trial.
The air was wrought with screams;
the people slept in a sweat, witnessing worse in their dreams.

People lived like animals or cattle, few opposed the beasts.
But among those heroes was a person called Ignis.
No one knew what Ignis was; it was human.
But appeared sexless and possessed insane determination.
It's strength was unmatched and it cared for one thing:
The reign of beast's ending.

So the darkness went on and people wept.
But Ignis' actions promoted strength and were up kept.
The fighting went on in the background
and monsters perished without so much as a sound.
The creatures continued unnerved as you'd expect.
The people found that they no longer wept.

Then Ignis no longer fought quietly, on solitary monsters.
It brought it's sword to a barren wasteland of evil aggressors.
The people watched in stunned amazement
as Ignis cut through the twisted mutants.
It's blade seemed to glint in the pure blackness
and nothing could touch it's radiance.

More monsters came, more monsters fell
and the people began to fight back as well.
Before everyone knew the world was filled
with a hope so intense that any foe could be killed.
Ignis lead the people to salvation and this was essential.
For now it reached it's absolute potential.

People dropped their weapons and took a breath
as the evil was purged and there was no more death.
Even Ignis moved to a clearing and sat cross legged.
People approached, the darkness no longer dreaded.
Then Ignis pulled a deep green petal from a pouch.
The first of its existence, and it ended up in it's mouth.

Looking around in expectancy, the people listened.
All was silent and dark, Ignis stiffened.
It twisted where it sat and sharp cracks sounded.
All through the land, the world gently fragmented.
Ignis became visibly thinner, more effeminate;
however, her skin became coarse and wooden, no one knew her state.

Anchored to the ground with root-like tendrils.
She drilled deep to the core, nature blossomed in peoples pupils.
They saw, how the thick but beautiful green flourished
and even in the darkness mother nature failed to perish.
For now Ignis was gentle and caring, emptying her life
into the harshness that Earth had always been; smooth as a knife's edge.

Throughout the land, people watched in wonder.
As natural life was born from the ***** of mother nature.
In the place of Ignis, a tree had grown tall and proud.
It writhed and emitted a noise akin to a thunderclap, all too loud.
People watched startled as a being exploded across the sky.
Light blasted through their vision for the first time and ceased to die.

It had come from the tree and they almost cried with delight.
A ball of light had formed and the world around was bright.
They could see every detail, nothing a dark haze
and they bowed to the tree, on their knees they prayed for days.
To Ignis the mother of nature, the bringer of fire.
The people eternally in her debt, humanity reached a safety far higher.

The darkness, however eternal, was now banished.
The world, now a cradle of humanity, was no longer tarnished.
Just a story I came up with and wanted to convey in the form of poetry. It's not referring to a religion or a belief; not even one I've come up with. It's simply a story born from my imagination and influenced by other creation stories.
Christine Ueri Jul 2012
how soft the clouds
that touch my feet
as I search for Ignis

Ignis
in the rotting leaves

how cold the soil
against the walls of my lungs
as I dig for Ignis

Ignis
and the Sun

how tight the girdle
around my waist
of roots and earthworm ribbons
as I dig for Ignis

Ignis
displaced

how heavy the dirt
that clings and crushes
skeletal ribs, fingers
clawing clumps and crusts
as I dig for Ignis

Ignis
in the rust

how fine the bone meal
that dissolves in droplets
of sweat in aquifer
as I seep to Ignis

Ignis
and breathing
1551

Those—dying then,
Knew where they went—
They went to God’s Right Hand—
That Hand is amputated now
And God cannot be found—

The abdication of Belief
Makes the Behavior small—
Better an ignis fatuus
Than no illume at all—
Invocation Sep 2014
Os iusti meditabitur sapientiam,
Et lingua eius loquetur indicium.

Beatus vir qui suffert tentationem,  
Quoniqm *** probates fuerit accipient coronam vitae.

Kyrie, fons bonitatis.
Kyrie, ignis divine, eleison.

O quam sancta, quam serena,
Quam benigma, quam amoena esse Virgo creditur.
O quam sancta, quam serena,
Quam benigma, quam amoena,
O castitatis lilium.

Kyrie, fons bonitatis.
Kyrie, ignis divine, eleison.
  
O quam sancta, quam serena,
Quam benigma, quam amoena,
O castitatis lilium.
Elfen Lied
-not an orginal work-
I love this song
David Moule Jul 2010
BE free from the church and its impositions
its restrictions
contradictions
and ungodly superstitions
BE free from all dogmatic institutions
Patriarchal truths
are only partial solutions
BE free from the coat of protection
that they fashion
A one-size fit
that impedes expansion
BE free from the doctrine
that imposes separation
Brother versus brother
Nation versus nation
BE free from the teachings
that set us apart
That caters to the Ego
not to the heart
BE free from the darkness
that controls your mind
How can you see the light
if you're asleep or blind
BE free from the ‘Book’
and its static communication
A covert operation
in the ‘divine’ proclamation
BE free from hypocrisy
intolerance and vanity
The ‘ignis fatuus’ progenitor
of the world's insanity.
© VERSO - 3/6/96 (D.N.Moule)
Andrew T Hannah Apr 2014
Praeludium in via ...

Vidi heri mane quando ridebam coloribus egregiis,
Eradere auro , trans tabula caeli , tentorium ...
Excelsus super omnes montes mundi mole fratres
Nimborum desertum , ubi non sit humana exsuscitatur .
Et non vidi nobili altitudo futura ...
Bonitas terribilis Vidi , *** indomitus.
Et peregrinare in ea carne existimarem Semel tamen divina ,
Nunc datum est scire , et non confundamur ab eo opus .
Ambulavitque *** Deo, quod nunc facio , et passus est ... accentus
Proditio amor et passionibus , quamvis non recipiat ecclesia ,
Divinitatis naturam , ne occulta omnia confitentur ?
Audis tu solus in universo ab duces ineptum
Ipsos victu pascuntur finguntur mendacii .
Sed ambulavit in vobis, ex ea ipsa mundi redivivi ,
Proelia ante hos annos multos, in carne nostra, amissis vate sacro .
Nos sequi vestigia veterum monumentis, ut ostensum est ;
Quia ex nihilo nati sumus , et adhuc in filiis tuis, ac spatium vivendi ,
Latebunt , quo melius in manifesto , vultus ingenio tegmina.
Ego sum primus , et consilium ... Memini tamen alta urantur
Humanis uti licet , *** aliena michi negotium.
Lorem quid ad ignorantiam et extra ,
Quia vidisti me in tenebris, in ardentem rogum meum .
Si sustinuero , praeire , ubi angeli labuntur ...
Quis autem, si non satis est dedicata piget.
Irrisorie , quoniam ego scio quod salventur , et saepe etiam ,
Post tantum est **** , et sic esset forma in re firmatam ?
Imago Dei , huc ad nos omnes in sanguine ipsius ,
A primis ad ultima, ut alpha et omega, gladius acutus .

Prologus : ( Os meum labitur )

Puer fui servus ad aras tam sacras ,
Hymnis immaculatorum : et absque iniquitate .
Quod *** ipse portabat diadema thons nudus ...
Expositum Spiritus meus, qui intellexi gravitatem.
Quis credit sanctum profanae habitu virtutum
Et illi qui in eo sunt ut carnifices ovis ad occisionem ,
Innocentes cogit induere larvis ad porcellana et operuerunt capita sua ,
Et filii eorum diriperent pueritia , vinctus catenis rudis .
Sicut teenager : ambulans in naturis hominum omnium adprobante ,
Et egressus est a me omnes, qui violatores extiterunt in coinquinatione verebatur .
Angelo fidem reperto cecidi inveni sanctitati
Nomen meum in ea , et curet abluitur dubium inveni .
Venit ad nuptias, et omnes dedi uxorem proditione ,
In solutione huius coniunctionis nostrae et sine intervallo in solitudinem imposuit ?
Traiectus mortalis caro mea reliquit me solum in sanguinem ,
Cor ejus scissum est , absque omni cultu ex ordine funem .
Angelus autem meus et leniat iras mansit dolori
Mea lux, in vigiliis, in nigrum, quod est victa ,
Admonens quia carnis mortalitate ... maxime
Angelus vult me et tremor et durum accepimus.
Et ego factus sum quam ... traumas vitae ac lacrimis
Et dimisit , in specie quae sunt post , veluti a me plagas .
Nox deinde calor intensior saunas percipimus ...
Sicut est mihi in choro , relictum est , nisi ab illo esse extensum ,
Et invicem tradent , et mortalem , ut impunita essent, sed numquam mihi ...
Non tradent ; effundam spiritum meum , et non totum .
FYLACTERIUM creare ex omni me , et oculus innocens ...
Quod amari posco sum ​​ut carbo margarita alba et nigra ;

Section I : Sacrificium Doll

Part I : ( litus sanguinem )

Ne revoces me pupa enim priscis recesserunt cavernam
Sunt inanima appetant , non realis forma in utero ;
A puero bibere rubeam ore exploratores in vastissimam taberna ...
Dum nati psallens FARRATUS agros effusi .
Vadimus ad domum Dei , in plagis , in magna pecunia debetis ...
Hoc non est ad oras Nunc cruore manant strigitu rubra de memoria , polluetur .
Nulla est enim me primus ad ignitionem gloriae ...
Quando autem mens aeterna , in omnibus placentes, causabatur laetitiam .
In stellis ibi verba quae ego volo inauditum revocare,
Quia descendi ita pridem apud venire primum ?
Sollicitus purus fabrica MYSTICUS chaos genitus antiquorum
Mitti expectant limine signa magica.
Interdictum revertatur in carminibus meis , Licinius, ut audacia ,
Quia oblitus est mei fere est: nunc originem , ut tragici.
*** filii bibere, et se abscondunt nati seorsum
*** aquæ in sanguinem, et super triticum, et arefecit fœnum, et humida !
Signum quod venturum est mutare et laboro mentem.
Facies in luna ALLUCINOR in metu torquetur , horror ...
Dumque in fauces manu stare super pectus
Inter ordines diu frumentum umbra nigro ambula
Genus servo meo animas infantium .
Aestas flavescunt, Phoebe caelesti audent .
Mea sola mcestas lupus sonitum audiri potest ,
Et *** feris leo in pontumque moueri relinquere ...
A natura mihi dolet cupio concupivit paradisus reducat .
Vidi terram terror , ut sanguis in sinu
Ater sanguis in terra , quae facit viventia ululare ...
Sicut **** habet stultitia non dicam prava vel !

Part II : ( Crucifixo et Inferorum Animas Excitat)

Nam inertis est gemere pupa altari parato, in sacrificium,
In lapidem calcarium, et in cavernam, ubi sunt wettest fingit arcus !
Un - res sunt, sed etiam *** vivit in vulneribus animae , ut in glaciem ,
In horrore frigoris fictilem , ita *** pedibus non vocavit.
Serpentipedi mucrone subrecto , remittit praecise a pupa in collo ,
Et non potest dici , quia non habet pupa voce clamare.
Puer, et egressus est a tabernam , aspectus eorum quasi a naufragii vile ...
Ut curem hominem a superioribus agentibus , corpus totum mundum.
Infra in concavis locorum asperitate visa petram
Magna voces resonare in tenebras , et vocavit nomen tacuit.
Eripuit animam trahit nauta Multo gregis
Ubi aereum reddet unicuique antiquum signum desideratum .
Et venit ad bibendum aquas illas vitae malis mederi ...
Porcellana , et liberatus a vinculis mortis obscuris sentiat frigore ;
Animas in captivitate , unde nemo mortalium loqui
Sed statim liberavit remotis perforabit clavi ...
Omnis **** , qui dicitur Golgotha ​​, olim in cruce positus .
Omnis autem mulier quoque, ad quod omnes tales sunt tormento
Et facta est , dum consummaretur sacrificium insita primum sic infirma est,
Et intantum ut nisl tot annis perpessi .
Signati post fata diu Quod murus ignis in Terra ,
Stigmatibus ferre posset ita etiam multa futura!
Quod signum erat in manu mea, ut labatur pes meus, et dimittam ...
Tamen adhuc vetera perseverare illusionibus , et non possum excitare multos .
Ego, qui iam tantum conligati Lorem ferrum quid reale,
Factaque est infinita in dolo : Ego sum ​​, et desiderio erat pax.
Nam et ego quod negas , nisi aspera ac rudia mei liberatione ;
Angelus liberavit me , et nunc inter saevus sigillum frangere conantur .

Part III : ( The Return of lux)

Qui a mortuis Surrexit , frigidior , ubi de somno , ultrices in somnis , per
Et obliti sunt intelligentiae invocatum est super sancta miserunt innoxia verba ...
Et inde apud hominem , ut maneat MYSTICUS sequuntur revertamur ,
Ea aetate in inferno commemoratione praeteritorum.
Qui suscitavit eis manum meam , et pugionem eius lumen gloriae,
Relicta meae effercio fluere sanguis subito currere libero.
Ex profundo flamma surgit millennial amisso puella puer ,
Quæ est angeli redivivam sinit luce clarius ostendit .
Et omnis qui non occaecat oculos ad intima ;
Infideles , in momento temporis ponere in obprobrium .
*** stellae ab Diua sacrorum opera voluntatis
Dum coccineum limen transeat , lucem adfert .
Momento enim omnes in caelo et in terris sunt ,
Sicut dies longus tandem inclinatus ante noctem veniat .
In tenebris , claritas multo maiorem et perfectiorem descendit ,
Eorum, qui dum in nomine meo orbata est devium.
Sicut incensum in conspectu angelorum ira animos eorum , occlusum ...
Ferrum IRRETUS texturae talis effugere nequeunt carcerem
Nam quicquid occaecat vidit lucem et scindit
Nisi quia in templis revellens mortalibus irae.
Et , postquam ipsæ fuerint fornicatæ infidelium , ut uoles, petulans ,
Et factum est in excogitando dogma , quod de ratione immemor ?
Horrendum non fides sit , tamen ita fecisse ,
Ante finem exspectent praemia petunt .
*** enim , ut est in paradisum suscipit dereliquerunt ...
Imago autem libertatis quam servitutis et negotio.
Nimia tempus extractam converterat a gladio:
****, ut spectet ad salutem in lucem , caeca lumina sua .

Antiphon alpha :
Quia hoc est ut , barbaris quoque innocentiae gentilitium mendacium vendere ...
Numquid et vos vultis emere , aut aliquam nunc forsitan putas,
Ad sciendum neque rationi consentaneum neque aetate sapientes ...
Quod si non moverent malles *** saltare!
Pleni sunt somnia noctes ; Dies mei tantum ...
Ego ad bis et quem maxime diligebam , in purpura quoque , et aprico occasus .
Ego autem haec imago non ad tangere memoriam tot ,
Qui replet in sanguinem furoris me , et frigidam desiderio finis .
Et considerandum est quod *** in ultima desperatione rerum , in cuius manu mea, equo et pilos in ore gladii ,
Nam ni ita esset, nunquam tamen inde trans familia .
Sed abusus est , ut fuit, et quidem instar caedentes sepem
An ut reliquos omnes transcendunt omnia , amice!
Ego superfui , transfiguravi ascendi in fine est ,
Multo magis quam erat, non plus quam diruere animus .
Sed tamen , quia speravi in solitudinem , ut a somno exsuscitem ancillam meam in flamma ...
Ardet , o superi, ut arbitror , usque uror dissiliunt!
De caelo et magis obscurant vestris, et tridentes, et contritio ,
Audio furorem tympana caelo antiqui gigantes hiemes.
Dii irascantur et ecce valide erutas ,
Uvasque calcantes Angeli hominis Illi autem vinariis ageretur ...
Recordatus sum in omnibus navigantibus battleship galaxies ,
In die ortus nubes inter exaestuans, quod ' vaporem ...
Depopulari Sodomam et Gomorrham, ad contumelias !
Ibi eram: et *** impiis non perire denique gemitu.
Ut illuderet mihi : et populus , quia ego bonus sum male velle ,
A Deo est, quam diu tot mala ferre cogetur .
Ego autem non sum solus , quia multa in eo et detorqueri
Deus remittit, nam adhuc sed non est intellectus ;

Section II : Hostiam de Spider

Part I : ( Rident Primus )

Caelum non egerunt pœnitentiam super ulcus nigrum est furore , et in indignatione, et in iustitia :
Et factus sum caro , quamvis intellectus non mortale .
In antro loca , quæ transivi , et dæmonia multa discurrunt ,
Et locis minus adhuc amor in search of a provocare .
In quo autem in craticiis tectoria atria mea, et thronus fuit stabilis ...
Et super collem , ubi dolorum laborum animae perit labor in mundanis ,
Transcendi vincula et consilio fidelium expectabo laudatur.
Ignis et sulphur et, semper est dextera arderent super altare ?
Ridentem cogo faciem meam : non enim veni , ut velle,
Ut in hora *** iam iuvenem, *** proposito aureum ...
Quæ pro impenso super solidum, pretium quis ,
Qui autem non cognovit , quomodo cupiam sibi solvere ...
Furor solitudinis nascitur ira nascitur ex malitia,
Qui autem contemnunt me , quia sine causa Provocantes me .
Quid est **** , impunitatem , ne quis putaret se excusat ;
Quam sapere , *** culturis tuum: mergi , in balneis , in ardentem .
Loquor de inferno, qui est infidelis nescis ?
Neque enim suis oculis effossis clavorum ...
Loquor cruciatus qui daemonia fecerunt superat .
Primus erit mihi dolor meus *** omnis fera voluntas ut ratio ...
Ut qui me conspui caro quod ambulans ,
Nescis modo larva facies mea , abscondens se.
Attendit ad illa nihil nisi insipientis solis erratur in sonis cantus
Tantum numerus ratus e fratre soror .
Sed in caelestibus quae sine causa nata est incestus est alchemical ?
Habitat in me peccatum occultum compages sǽculo.
Sit mihi vim inter gentes auditus est ABSURDUS musica ...
Spiritus meus qui regit omne simile est genitus.

Part II ( vindicta aurum )

In hortos, in quibus cupiditas sanguis rosaria semina ,
I , in manu eorum , qui esurit Quorum sitit aquam surgit !
In quaerere dilectionis affectum bestiis pavi eget
Quid faciam ut pudeat , habet me non elit .
O **** , quo impune ausu palamque vociferari ,
Quod amor sit ex me credis , et me opus manuum tuarum ,
Ut timidus , et cucurrit ad me latere turba depravari ,
In simulata excellentiam tuam , et ipse te vile animal .
Coniunctio oris linguae quasi telam laqueari
Si fieri potest araneae ; et fugiet a turpis ut octo pedes nidum ...
Et *** jam non calidus humanitatis indignum ,
Cogitans te meliorem quam reliqui descendes !
Ut vitae pretium millies , tibimetipsi .
Creaturam factus sum nocte expectant te aranea heu !
Nolite putare quia ego audirem . utrumque stridens cruris ...
Odium ductor tuus , et equi ejus , et ascensorem ejus .
Et in vestra web Video vos, Quirites immune ungues acuti ,
Ad toxicus venenum , quod oculis non potes, nisi te , octo ...
Ex quo bases Caesios sine timore, et sic primum
Ut dolores tuos comedat vos accendentes ignem caelum ;
Detur paenitentiae venia , quae dicis omnia cogit , ne superare dolores ,
Qui tibi semper, quæ videtur , non est potentia ad non noceat .
Et ascendit ulterius sapere plus pavoris tui ...
Numquam puerile ludibrium ulla facta .
Omnis domus tua dissolutae horologiorum ad socium non est ?
In desertis chaos est gaudium, ut si quod habuerunt.
Surgit in novum ordinem , nemo potest negare chaos genitus locus ,
Dum descendes perdunt, muneribus laesae.

PARS III ( Ultimo Rident)

Et sic videtur quod Angelus se et ante deam
Angelus autem nominis vocare aliquis tenuerit formarum.
Et qui in illis est , maiora sunt, ego saepe ad extraneas ,
Fingunt enim se perfectum , ignorant eorum saevitum ,
Num amor crustacea tam veteri quam in praedam , et mendicum ,
Quod minus quam tuum est , quam sumpsi eaque cibum ...
Est autem tarn coquina sicut clibanus tua vadit et ora
Ipse, ipse est extra te praemium virtutis tuae chores ,
Sicut enim res suo cuidam negotium , qui meretricem ... Lorem ipsum leve,
Putas praemium amaret , et mendicum , falli te .
Quid autem vocatis me alienum **** ... amor est malum , et hoc pudet,
Et similiter anima atque animus , quibus tandem corpus infirmare.
Vides tantum larva ... sub aspectu nisurum
Larva ut me in tenebris tenebris latet .
Circa collum tuum habebis , ut falsae aestimationis pendet a mortuis, et corona ,
Quia sterilis tibi relinquo mundum , Intenta ancillæ.
Consurgitur in excitate de reliquis abire tibi , qui sunt cognati mei
De manibus eorum procul offendant pedes vestri ?
Qui manet in coemeterio quasi mortui
Non tollere incorruptione Nimis tibi dubium .
Hue tacito lachrymis virgines flere ...
Ad mea, et robur , in quo praeda, gregibus rursum super vias hominum ,
Ad eos qui non ineptis metus mutetur ,
Aureus transmutare non magis quam plumbea nocte dies ;
Quod verum est de fine , qui scit ... Alchemist
Magistra rerum artes a me in profundum.
Ágite , quod sum aggressus creatura placet mutare ...
Ut res sunt nostrae demiurgorum lasciva oscula enim calidius ?

Omega Antiphon :
Non est autem in Utopia , non videtur quod ...
Donec ut nosmet ipsos cognoscimus prima quaerimus imaginem .
*** et in sacrificio sui ipsius , a volunt reddi obsequium ...
Qui ad reformandam et divina se , *** Leo renata agnus mitis !
Sicut in Christo, ex parte in qua invocatum est cicatrix, et vulneratus est ...
Sed simplex conversio ad dissimilis vultus nolui .
Memini dolore meo, ut acer et vehemens ...
Donee tantum possum emissus dolor servare sensu caret.
Quomodo potest aedificare paradisum non est, nisi in se mutant ;
Mutare ante mutatum esse non est in medio ; quae est in via .
Qua ad paradisum , et oportet eam, et non deficiunt,
Ne ad caelum, nisi quam nos aedificare illud infernum iniustitiis nos .
Utopia , non ruunt ad genus humanum, nisi a te, tu es qui habitavit ?
Nisi quod est extra omne malum quod in se corrumpunt ,
Manifestum enim est , nisi malum, quod mundatam ab omnibus malis moribus.
Tunc malitia faciatis abstulit senex super pluteo tom .
An non intellegat , quid est salvator ...
*** diceret quod non omne quod simplices filii ingredi
Regnum caelorum , et inde ad delectationem pertinere ...
Et quomodo potes perfrui , si tibi placet , cauillando crudelis ?
*** aurora tempore domini nituntur hominum planeta ...
Numquam imaginandi praecipiet ut discat primum voluntatis.
Non armorum vi , nec inutile mandatum ...
Sed *** modestia , et misericordia ; ergo qui ad cor suum in satietatem,
Gáudii innumerabiles et celebrationibus quae causa ?
Sed animus intendatur dolores peccatum lacus.
Ubi plausus rotundum vt quilibet sensus ?
Modernitatem iocabitur ullum definitum ornare.

Section III : sacrificium sui

Part I : ( hortos perditio )

A ziggurat sublatus est , arenosa in calidum lateres , quos coquetis in igne ...
Septem fabulae in caelum, sicut turris Babel ,
Quod in solitudinem, et in
This is how this poem is meant to be read. In it's original form.
Latin is nothing but the purest form of expression when it comes to language.
Lucy Oct 2013
Crawling through the mud
with calloused hands groping
for anything to push forward.
Tearing over rough bark,
exposed skin is left torn,
and hot red gold spills,
staining the crystal pools
that collected from the falling
ocean.

Stars in the eyes
reflecting stars above,
and catching salty tears
that invade the homes of ants below.
Frozen breath is pushed out,
forming small clouds of words
left unsaid,
unheard,
unwanted.

Fingers feel for the pulse of the earth,
no longer hoping for survival,
but just to be reunited with nature.
The wind sings a deathly lullaby
and soon only an empty shell
is left where a soul once lived.
Raven Mar 2016
The downside
of falling in love
with people
who make you feel
sparks
and fireworks
in your heart
comes
when they leave you
with nothing but
ashes and smoke.
all time low's "a love like war" inspired this piece idk
Pennsylvania, 1948-1949

The garden of Nature opens.
The grass at the threshold is green.
And an almond tree begins to bloom.

Sunt mihi Dei Acherontis propitii!
Valeat numen triplex Jehovae!
Ignis, aeris, aquae, terrae spiritus,
Salvete!—says the entering guest.

Ariel lives in the palace of an apple tree,
But will not appear, vibrating like a wasp’s wing,
And Mephistopheles, disguised as an abbot
Of the Dominicans or the Franciscans,
Will not descend from a mulberry bush
Onto a pentagram drawn in the black loam of the path.


But a rhododendron walks among the rocks
Shod in leathery leaves and ringing a pink bell.
A hummingbird, a child’s top in the air,
Hovers in one spot, the beating heart of motion.
Impaled on the nail of a black thorn, a grasshopper
Leaks brown fluid from its twitching snout.
And what can he do, the phantom-in-chief,
As he’s been called, more than a magician,
The Socrates of snails, as he’s been called,
Musician of pears, arbiter of orioles, man?
In sculptures and canvases our individuality
Manages to survive. In Nature it perishes.
Let him accompany the coffin of the woodsman
Pushed from a cliff by a mountain demon,
The he-goat with its jutting curl of horn.
Let him visit the graveyard of the whalers
Who drove spears into the flesh of leviathan
And looked for the secret in guts and blubber.
The thrashing subsided, quieted to waves.
Let him unroll the textbooks of alchemists
Who almost found the cipher, thus the scepter.
Then passed away without hands, eyes, or elixir.


Here there is sun. And whoever, as a child,
Believed he could break the repeatable pattern
Of things, if only he understood the pattern,
Is cast down, rots in the skin of others,
Looks with wonder at the colors of the butterfly,
Inexpressible wonder, formless, hostile to art.


To keep the oars from squeaking in their locks,
He binds them with a handkerchief. The dark
Had rushed east from the Rocky Mountains
And settled in the forests of the continent:
Sky full of embers reflected in a cloud,
Flight of herons, trees above a marsh,
The dry stalks in water, livid, black. My boat
Divides the aerial utopias of the mosquitoes
Which rebuild their glowing castles instantly.
A water lily sinks, fizzing, under the boat’s bow.


Now it is night only. The water is ash-gray.
Play, music, but inaudibly! I wait an hour
In the silence, senses tuned to a ******’s lodge.
Then suddenly, a crease in the water, a beast’s
black moon, rounded, ploughing up quickly
from the pond-dark, from the bubbling methanes.
I am not immaterial and never will be.
My scent in the air, my animal smell,
Spreads, rainbow-like, scares the ******:
A sudden splat.
I remained where I was
In the high, soft coffer of the night’s velvet,
Mastering what had come to my senses:
How the four-toed paws worked, how the hair
Shook off water in the muddy tunnel.
It does not know time, hasn’t heard of death,
Is submitted to me because I know I’ll die.


I remember everything. That wedding in Basel,
A touch to the strings of a viola and fruit
In silver bowls. As was the custom in Savoy,
An overturned cup for three pairs of lips,
And the wine spilled. The flames of the candles
Wavery and frail in a breeze from the Rhine.
Her fingers, bones shining through the skin,
Felt out the hooks and clasps of the silk
And the dress opened like a nutshell,
Fell from the turned graininess of the belly.
A chain for the neck rustled without epoch,
In pits where the arms of various creeds
Mingle with bird cries and the red hair of caesars.


Perhaps this is only my own love speaking
Beyond the seventh river. Grit of subjectivity,
Obsession, bar the way to it.
Until a window shutter, dogs in the cold garden,
The whistle of a train, an owl in the firs
Are spared the distortions of memory.
And the grass says: how it was I don’t know.


Splash of a ****** in the American night.
The memory grows larger than my life.
A tin plate, dropped on the irregular red bricks
Of a floor, rattles tinnily forever.
Belinda of the big foot, Julia, Thaïs,
The tufts of their *** shadowed by ribbon.


Peace to the princesses under the tamarisks.
Desert winds beat against their painted eyelids.
Before the body was wrapped in bandelettes,
Before wheat fell asleep in the tomb,
Before stone fell silent, and there was only pity.


Yesterday a snake crossed the road at dusk.
Crushed by a tire, it writhed on the asphalt.
We are both the snake and the wheel.
There are two dimensions. Here is the unattainable
Truth of being, here, at the edge of lasting
and not lasting. Where the parallel lines intersect,
Time lifted above time by time.


Before the butterfly and its color, he, numb,
Formless, feels his fear, he, unattainable.
For what is a butterfly without Julia and Thaïs?
And what is Julia without a butterfly’s down
In her eyes, her hair, the smooth grain of her belly?
The kingdom, you say. We do not belong to it,
And still, in the same instant, we belong.
For how long will a nonsensical Poland
Where poets write of their emotions as if
They had a contract of limited liability
Suffice? I want not poetry, but a new diction,
Because only it might allow us to express
A new tenderness and save us from a law
That is not our law, from necessity
Which is not ours, even if we take its name.


From broken armor, from eyes stricken
By the command of time and taken back
Into the jurisdiction of mold and fermentation,
We draw our hope. Yes, to gather in an image
The furriness of the ******, the smell of rushes,
And the wrinkles of a hand holding a pitcher
From which wine trickles. Why cry out
That a sense of history destroys our substance
If it, precisely, is offered to our powers,
A muse of our gray-haired father, Herodotus,
As our arm and our instrument, though
It is not easy to use it, to strengthen it
So that, like a plumb with a pure gold center,
It will serve again to rescue human beings.


With such reflections I pushed a rowboat,
In the middle of the continent, through tangled stalks,
In my mind an image of the waves of two oceans
And the slow rocking of a guard-ship’s lantern.
Aware that at this moment I—and not only I—
Keep, as in a seed, the unnamed future.
And then a rhythmic appeal composed itself,
Alien to the moth with its whirring of silk:


O City, O Society, O Capital,
We have seen your steaming entrails.
You will no longer be what you have been.
Your songs no longer gratify our hearts.


Steel, cement, lime, law, ordinance,
We have worshipped you too long,
You were for us a goal and a defense,
Ours was your glory and your shame.


And where was the covenant broken?
Was it in the fires of war, the incandescent sky?
Or at twilight, as the towers fly past, when one looked
From the train across a desert of tracks

To a window out past the maneuvering locomotives
Where a girl examines her narrow, moody face
In a mirror and ties a ribbon to her hair
Pierced by the sparks of curling papers?


Those walls of yours are shadows of walls,
And your light disappeared forever.
Not the world's monument anymore, an oeuvre of your own
Stands beneath the sun in an altered space.


From stucco and mirrors, glass and paintings,
Tearing aside curtains of silver and cotton,
Comes man, naked and mortal,
Ready for truth, for speech, for wings.


Lament, Republic! Fall to your knees!
The loudspeaker’s spell is discontinued.
Listen! You can hear the clocks ticking.
Your death approaches by his hand.


An oar over my shoulder, I walked from the woods.
A porcupine scolded from the fork of a tree,
A horned owl, not changed by the century,
Not changed by place or time, looked down.
Bubo maximus, from the work of Linnaeus.


America for me has the pelt of a raccoon,
Its eyes are a raccoon’s black binoculars.
A chipmunk flickers in a litter of dry bark
Where ivy and vines tangle in the red soil
At the roots of an arcade of tulip trees.
America’s wings are the color of a cardinal,
Its beak is half-open and a mockingbird trills
From a leafy bush in the sweat-bath of the air.
Its line is the wavy body of a water moccasin
Crossing a river with a grass-like motion,
A rattlesnake, a rubble of dots and speckles,
Coiling under the bloom of a yucca plant.


America is for me the illustrated version
Of childhood tales about the heart of tanglewood,
Told in the evening to the spinning wheel’s hum.
And a violin, shivvying up a square dance,
Plays the fiddles of Lithuania or Flanders.
My dancing partner’s name is Birute Swenson.
She married a Swede, but was born in Kaunas.
Then from the night window a moth flies in
As big as the joined palms of the hands,
With a hue like the transparency of emeralds.


Why not establish a home in the neon heat
Of Nature? Is it not enough, the labor of autumn,
Of winter and spring and withering summer?
You will hear not one word spoken of the court
of Sigismund Augustus on the banks of the Delaware River.
The Dismissal of the Greek Envoys is not needed.
Herodotus will repose on his shelf, uncut.
And the rose only, a ****** symbol,
Symbol of love and superterrestrial beauty,
Will open a chasm deeper than your knowledge.
About it we find a song in a dream:


Inside the rose
Are houses of gold,
black isobars, streams of cold.
Dawn touches her finger to the edge of the Alps
And evening streams down to the bays of the sea.


If anyone dies inside the rose,
They carry him down the purple-red road
In a procession of clocks all wrapped in folds.
They light up the petals of grottoes with torches.
They bury him there where color begins,
At the source of the sighing,
Inside the rose.


Let names of months mean only what they mean.
Let the Aurora’s cannons be heard in none
Of them, or the tread of young rebels marching.
We might, at best, keep some kind of souvenir,
Preserved like a fan in a garret. Why not
Sit down at a rough country table and compose
An ode in the old manner, as in the old times
Chasing a beetle with the nib of our pen?
Chris Saitta May 2019
Love beneath the linden tree,
The blue touchpaper of fingers entwined,
And sunsets of ignis fatui,
The lightning wick of lips and the caroming atom,
That once held faces,
All but sear and blast wind and howl of eyes,
All of love adrift.
“Hibakujumoku” means survivor tree or A-bombed tree in Japanese.  The linden tree, Tilia miqueliana, is one such tree in Hiroshima, and a Linden Tree Monument exists at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial.
Few years have pass’d since thou and I
  Were firmest friends, at least in name,
And Childhood’s gay sincerity
  Preserved our feelings long the same.

But now, like me, too well thou know’st
  What trifles oft the heart recall;
And those who once have loved the most
  Too soon forget they lov’d at all.

And such the change the heart displays,
  So frail is early friendship’s reign,
A month’s brief lapse, perhaps a day’s,
  Will view thy mind estrang’d again.

If so, it never shall be mine
  To mourn the loss of such a heart;
The fault was Nature’s fault, not thine,
  Which made thee fickle as thou art.

As rolls the Ocean’s changing tide,
  So human feelings ebb and flow;
And who would in a breast confide
  Where stormy passions ever glow?

It boots not that, together bred,
  Our childish days were days of joy:
My spring of life has quickly fled;
  Thou, too, hast ceas’d to be a boy.

And when we bid adieu to youth,
  Slaves to the specious World’s controul,
We sigh a long farewell to truth;
  That World corrupts the noblest soul.

Ah, joyous season! when the mind
  Dares all things boldly but to lie;
When Thought ere spoke is unconfin’d,
  And sparkles in the placid eye.

Not so in Man’s maturer years,
  When Man himself is but a tool;
When Interest sways our hopes and fears,
  And all must love and hate by rule.

With fools in kindred vice the same,
  We learn at length our faults to blend;
And those, and those alone, may claim
  The prostituted name of friend.

Such is the common lot of man:
  Can we then ’scape from folly free?
Can we reverse the general plan,
  Nor be what all in turn must be?

No; for myself, so dark my fate
  Through every turn of life hath been;
Man and the World so much I hate,
  I care not when I quit the scene.

But thou, with spirit frail and light,
  Wilt shine awhile, and pass away;
As glow-worms sparkle through the night,
  But dare not stand the test of day.

Alas! whenever Folly calls
  Where parasites and princes meet,
(For cherish’d first in royal halls,
  The welcome vices kindly greet,)

Ev’n now thou’rt nightly seen to add
  One insect to the fluttering crowd;
And still thy trifling heart is glad
  To join the vain and court the proud.

There dost thou glide from fair to fair,
  Still simpering on with eager haste,
As flies along the gay parterre,
  That taint the flowers they scarcely taste.

But say, what nymph will prize the flame
  Which seems, as marshy vapours move,
To flit along from dame to dame,
  An ignis-fatuus gleam of love?

What friend for thee, howe’er inclin’d,
  Will deign to own a kindred care?
Who will debase his manly mind,
  For friendship every fool may share?

In time forbear; amidst the throng
  No more so base a thing be seen;
No more so idly pass along;
  Be something, any thing, but—mean.
The Ink Well Feb 2013
I'll say it, I'm in love with Fire.

There's a sort of... life
That's contained within its intangibility;
A supernatural warmth,
It spreads through every extremity
And pushes out the always invasive cold.
Delicate but fierce;
A soft but deadly kiss.

A beacon in the looming dark,
I find that I'm always searching for your light,
The smallest flicker on a candle.
I'll long for such an embrace,
But all too knowingly,
That the moment of contact will ignite me,
Leave me burning.
PJ Poesy May 2017
Here are burdens riddled with subtleties
Mysterious questions of life and death
Mushroomed out of an addictive breath
Artificial intelligence for government subsidies

Yet, beyond earth lie no inquest or induction
Posed on greasy brink of insanity's fallacy
Coming upon junction of humanity absently
Greater guidance larger than sapient deduction

Are we falling through space or are we suspended?
Can't help now, but with forethought will accomplish
Foolish fire to which we pay homage
Lighting a candle for now, for all in attendance
Felt the pretense behind closed eyes,
  composed vibrations of rhetoric              
   freelancing in executing ignis fatuus

drank the kool-aid of your own grandeur
   a punch drunk conviction's onus
   in false pretenses of a  mislead head trip

a study in contradiction's convulsions
    simmered of half past lucid judgement,
   junctures of reality submersed
      in cloudy formations
        impervious to reasoning*

...a saga written upon piqued skies of indifference
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
you know, how i experience life?
i tease magnets...
i take negative thinking
and couple it with the talking
behind, subsequently,
watching from, "behind the scenes"...
to equate with
"nagatuve talking....
Lethal Weapon...
Mr. Joshua...
                the 1980s...
negative ends of the magnets...
more fascinating than
a ******* experience....
    or slobbering on oyster
****....
              magnetism in relation
to gravity...
            then i give a slight of
wonder...
but then *Leo Getz
...
okay okay okay...
      ******* classic...

lest all be left is this love,
let this love be,
all that is to be lest
and least....:
believably become
into being
the quickened artifact
up-keeper...
and love, and loss,
and all those...
guarded hopes...
   hooded sight my shadow
will caste...
              to which comes the reply:
ego videre ignis...
all that i see...
is a fire donning a hood...
   est ignis adorno cucullio...
which implies...
   omni ego videre est,
est sui ipse...
       i'm just tired... just tired...
of having to kneel before
the mea culpa.
Castiel Apr 2014
Once I looked in the
mirror and I saw
myself, but not
what I wanted to
see.
My reflection is
distorted, but I look
the same as in any
other mirror or
poem or
drawing and I am left to
wonder, is it the
mirror that is
broken or is it
me?
-ignis
Another of Ignis's.
Emily K Fisk Dec 2015
Your hands are fire,
sunstars singeing my skin with their touch,
you ignite me.

And sparks fly from our crossed screams.

Our *** is electric –
and I’m just praying the power doesn’t go out.
8.9.15
Smoke blacken sky
flames rise from the anguish,
her hands soaked in crimson dye
a trail of the shattered corpse she's vanquished.
The inferno consumes,
swallowing her whole.
Taking  the life that once charmed and yet confused,
Death becomes her; and her firey soul.
Jack Jenkins Apr 2019
When the waves no longer crashed against the beach
The sand was sad and missed the sea
& from the dry desert an oasis was born
Born from tears the sand had wept
The oasis gave life to the travellers thirsty and alone
Even to the animals and carnivores
Yet none could ever stay for it was not their home
Alone the oasis gave itself to the sky
To be a cloud that travels far and wide
To seek the sea he utterly missed
Leaving rain and blooming flowers in his path
A river, an ocean, but he could not find her
So he looked behind at all he created
All those he saved
He asked himself "What is it worth if I haven't her?"
& in a moment he was gone
The cloud gave himself to the scorching sun
All that remained was a rainbow
Beautiful image of passing on
//On her, life and friends//
Pour yourself out for everyone and watch yourself empty
Just open your eyes,
open them and see.
My fire is intensifying,
the flames are rising.
Watch your ashes fly,
watch as they flutter all around me.
You thought you were the only one who could do the burning,
dead wrong
It's my turn now; and your anguish is just the beginning.
Lalin Dec 2014
He was a thief
and he did it ‘all the time’
that stealing
he used to call
enlightening
for the others in loss
so they spiritually grow

he was not only a thief
but also a liar
–towards himself-
what’s worse?

always another
chic - trendy -
authentic - to go -
oriental -  family
fast – arty -
road - five-star
four-calendar  
cheap an deli
and so many
with branded words
dictionaries fall futile to describe
types of restaurants where
he ate from
without a check
a humble gift from my guru
for my accomplishments
he said –
his guru to whom he in percentages fed back
otherwise he would be for good dead
more dead than the dead
because it is beyond the scope
of this story but just know that
he already was dead -
my delicious soul food
he cunningly said.

he was not only a thief and a liar
but also stupid
what’s worse?

blinded by his tall victory
planning the future only
a robot army
that shall **** humanity
for he could be the only one on earth
the one who was made of human wanted that!
unable to comprehend
with his victorious- photoshopped head
always looking forward
as if more ahead
than anyone ahead
far  far beyond clouds of
oil stick slime and dirt
so that the
impure material would
fill his brainless head
for a temporary while
oh my that pretty skull
implanted with sunny hair and glowing starry eye
had all the luxurious capacity of space
a palace for the richest he says
I live in
on the last floor of the highest building
ever made on the planet
always busy baptizing
with cosmetics
branded as pure mountain water and Angelica White herb
he switches off his room size TV and looks down affectionately
(where in reality he overlooks) and self adoringly shakes in triumph
‘I see all humanity
they bug and harvest their own Ignis Fatuus
No I need no TV
this is my true warranty
I am the preacher
I am reborn’.

He was not only a thief and a liar and stupid
but also ignorant
what’s worse?

as he continued to praise his ‘what could have been’s
he forgot the ‘what is’
having numbed the essence he
was unable to feel the growing green grass
under his foot soles

nature as compassionate as always
tries to nurture his lost soul
even for him,
by building a shelter
where he could also grow a brain
in meditation
long term
may/could/would he also have then
a true home
built on the mountain of truth

Oh the nature so pure, beautiful  and naive
continued to plan hand in hand
with a hard-working bumblebee
so he could learn to be free
without  depending on a guru
or on casual vampiric activity

so
what nature does?

she builds a home for him
even adds a pretty angel in
that could be an ever after
sweetheart for him.

he was not only a thief and a liar and stupid and ignorant
but also blind
what’s worse?

so blind that
upon seeing the angel
(his twin of opposite nature)
he did not recognize her
and one night he broke in his own house
plundered everything that has been gifted for him
and dropped the key  as always but
this time inside
where she lived
in the hearts of the hearts
on top of the mountains of truth
on a clearing
beyond the clouds of love
where their house was built

and as usual he escaped
far far away
until he consumed
all that he had
politely ****** and laughed
******* his fantasies in the lands beyond the oily custard
custard distilled by seedless smoke clouds  made of evil he knew so well
until he was left with one
white flower with living roots

Who are you !
What are you !
he whined and cried in terror and fear
hearing his own true voice for the first time
after ages and after ******* generations’ gifts

here is the flower’s reply:

I am you
so
be me
plant me
so
you can see
break the blasphemy
and
if you can
become
you again
and grow
truthfully
you will
reach to
where
she leaves
lifetimes long
lifetimes after
when
she sees
you or of you
she will recognize
you
as she truly will kiss
by her kiss
you shall at once
be blessed
freed
convert
to a prince
of her
dreams
and
always
remember
to keep
her
dream alive
as
she
is
made
of
love
otherwise
you
and all
of you
shall
eternally
die.

‘What? Becoming a flower! That’s the worst’ he replied
and dropped his only living copy of the key.
spoken poetry: https://soundcloud.com/dnalumuland/thethief
Castiel Apr 2014
I am the rat.
There are always
roads that I can take,
and always
new places to be explored.
I am compact,
and I can
fit wherever I
want to go.
There is always
a surplus of food and
I eat well.
But sometimes,
the food is poison
and I am left with only
my dying breaths.
Some passages lead me only to
being hit with a broom.
I am called
filthy and disgusting.
But still
I find myself
smiling when I
wake because
it's **** well worth it being the rat.
-ignis
I don't even know honestly. Just a sort of positive minute-long thing I wrote from the perspective of Ignis, my alter-ego of sorts. And, yes, Ignis is actually a rat.
mike Aug 2015
the distance is a shadow
of your shape i can not touch
so i dance along its edges.

float over to you as an orb of light.

whisper a teeth shattering ecstasy
into the base of your neck
to watch it pour down the canal
of your curving spine
until you are a flood to cover me
with what i can not control.

youre a force as though
pulled by the moon
coming in waves to consume
whatever it is you crash into
with crushing sounds
drowned out by your
bone shattering howls
which are lost
in the ******* wind
of your lip-shivering mouth.

        and all is left quiet and still
                       like both
                the blood-soaked
               prey and predator
          after the heat of the ****.
The Dybbuk Oct 2019
For fire's spirit lurking in the church,
and by the ash beneath you, once alive,
Awakening the warmth within the birch,
chaos herself is driven to survive.
The winds of change bring blues and golds about,
setting sun breaks day and shifts to pink.
The ocean drowning, and I, a drought,
The blackened paper, breathing in the ink.
The mirror warps, and with it time is slowed,
A moment's lifetime screams, deflates, and dies.
Aquatic **** procures the sword, bestowed,
and with it clicks the clockwork toward demise.
I rise, I fall, I move from foot to foot,
The bells will beat the flames, and I, to soot.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2016
a pythagorean stance is? savour the few...
                     flu flu flew
away the many, and there are "not" enough
bothersome ones, to attest  to the aclue - i.e. without
a Sherlock.  it's sad to confess that i'm
not model ant but then again: my bicep
is not prone to signatures...
winged hussar that
scared off the turks off vienna...
modernity then!
     why am i an ω-male?
i like to hear the chatter of
                            α-β
holy of holies, and hangovers;
my feet are stench, my tongue
is stolen, bravo!
i can't compete in this environment,
there's no enriching curtsey (court-see;
see what not using diacritical
marks does to you? you flabbergast it!)...
but there i am... unsurprisingly so:
the omega-male listening in
on talk about beta males not getting any...
and alpha males turnings into walruses...
thank ******* time this happened!
quote: quo vadis...
        teutonis militaria...
                             ignis et gladio        
i'm an omega-male... i look at it and clap...
like the remnant of Belzebub within
a fly: rubbing it's tentacle bits,
assured, that all is worthy of cradling
     the definite article.
yes, i, the ω-male (omega)...
         it's no surprise that i'm basically not
gagging for it... there! yonder over y'all
(Kansas tribute)!
   patriarchal Kant, like an adjacent Abraham
with martyr Kleist:
              ω-male, counter to the beta male,
counter to the beta male that counters the alpha
male... basically? beta males gave me
no encouragement... alpha males gave me
no impromptu to attest...
               for all the beatifications of woman
i was assured the most forbidle attestment...
they... all... grow... old...
    and i rather transpire the wrath of tornadoes
than the boundaries of what makes woman...
for the sake of unprejudiced pronoun usage
(as if we were keepers of a promise to
name-shackle a tree to a tree, and then
never mention a twig, a branch, or a matchstick,
or a toothpick)
          woe unto man
and woo unto the other resemblance -
penance unto whoever wrongs the ****** signifier
that it should have been of a higher tier
to begin with...
      yes... to call the dynamism a case of
alphabet...                the case of prominent α
and shadowy β... i already stated my circumstance,
i'm not into passing on my genes!
      i'm an ω-male! the symbol already represents
what i stand for... sitting on my **** and
caring about the α-β dynamism as anyone could
care for a lesson in: if there's anything
important in this world, what, if anything
could it be?
                they really did forget about the ω-male,
and the jesus encyclopedic quote about
alpha and omega... ******* ruffians, stuck in
the beta mode of thinking things out...
learn the opposite... learn the hard way:
not to be so finicky courtesan... as the rule states:
if you can't support them: don't tease them
into fudge-packing your *******
                 for a breather on the weekend.
Castiel Apr 2014
I have spoken to
the birds.
I have asked them about
how they know where
it is that they're going, and
every one of them revealed that
they do not.
They tell me that they just
flap their wings and
fly away and they don't need to
think about where they're
going because they rely on
themselves enough to be
assured that they'll end
up right where
they need to be.
But how do you
know where you need
to be, I asked
them, and they told
me once again that
they do not.
They just rely on their
wings to take
them there.
I wish I could have been
brave and spread my
wings and fly where
I need to go as the
birds left.
But instead I
stayed behind.
At first I was
ashamed of
myself for not
following suit but then
I realised that
maybe the reason I didn't
fly was because I was
already where I
needed to
be.
-ignis
Ignis on flight. Ignis is a pretty positive fellow, isn't he? I didn't realise that until I read this, but he does tend to be cheerier than Castiel. >>
Cosmogony of My Emotions: Teleological Theosophy of My Personal Theology
Death cannot defined. Being of ultimate consequence it is above causation, yet reigns supreme as an effect. It can only be affined: Aqua, Ignis, Terra, Ventus , Umbra, Lucem/ Hydro, Pyro, Gaia, Aero, Erebus, Aether, all swirl in dead languages spoke a thousand years ago yet they all have been read by our generation in our youth.
The veil of death is a tabernacle in which only the high priest returns from walking, all others are drug back rope around their solar plexus. All paths of death are two fold.
First, from the feet of the Teleologic Cosmos of Emotion we grow towards the Son, the Father, and the Holy Spirit. From the abyss we stare at the knees of the concave exterior of healing. Like the twins of June, hate and pain, are the two closest modes to death, but not the most direct. I feel fear is the ultimate neighbor of death. The flow of Consciousness lies first in the womb. Concealed from the light, darkness sheilds us from the illusion of Illumination. Hate feeds into pain as Pain feeds into hate, like a sibling rivalry. The knees (pain and hate) bend not to cushion the feet (death) but to stop the pelvis (fear) from shattering under the weight of the back bone (Stillness).
Adapted to the new ways of my mother's demon of lust wedding sloth and gluttony. Sin is the seat of unconscious control, or lack there of like a drunk blacked out asleep, already anticipating his next drink. Hate is Ache followed by ate. Pain and hunger are two sides of the same page. What can I say, everything happens for a reason. Even if I feel it was treason yet I'm no regal prince, nor a Mercury lying closest to the Solar, I drenched myself in my own masochism: physically mentally spiritually, and had done so for years. The basis of your emergency alert was quite founded, yet not without ignorance. Yet to me, you felt i was going to rise through fear to descend into pain and find my new year 25th, death. But the beauty is in my birth with one hair on my head I left the manger a man, no wig, feeling for the first time while the police speak to my mother searching like the warriors dispatched of Herod. My blood spirit is free, having saved Adam through the pyramid  I dethrone Satan by the sip of the crown of the feathered serpent. Yet you hate he who fell. I fear the vile nature of the burning fields respecting the ignitor of the flames as the sole cause of err that lead or Savior to accomplish who no one else could. For without the fall of the unholy, wingless, cut from tip to tip, Iesus-Yeshua-Judah would not be your most beloved. Without the pain of Christos (the annointed), Khristos (the enlightened) would not achieve ideology of the cosmos. Pain rises to fear shortly, and shifts into hate in confusion as siblings squabble, as I had done internally for a decade. Yet through the gift of the heart heavenly Saul is able to see the life lesson to use the lower part of our mind to find the Big Blue. Pain ascends into love if and only if death can bounce like glue. If you aim for the Sun and the Moon you can only be a child of astronomy, yet you showed me my dreams to buy you a ring of Saturn and hand it to you on a Sunday. I believed my pain laid plain and bare could convince you of you're convictions. My mission in the deepest recesses of body was for you to give into your fears so we could slip into the underworld of sin sipping red wine until the mounring in my heart rose Rex by the fading starlight. I dream to live a lye, basic as alkaline, I wished to be a battery. I saw myself freed of my woman battering heritage ceasing the cyclic self fear that posited the ferocity of my fore fathers, due to the love of a woman most beloved and true. I felt you could be the instrument to my Burning Lyre, my love Plutonic I felt my crow caw. As I held you in my arms singing with you in harmony, setting the bond between the viscous cycle of Pain, paying dues with Hate, to rise like smoke to face fear starring death in the face like a shadow below. The night sky black with how to Know, twinkling with the star light of Love. Only above the vault of heavens clung Joy, Hope, and Live.
Without poeticizing further, what I term the Basement of Abasment consists of Death at the roots (red inverted triangle) rising into Hate (orange w/ red center) and Pain (tan w/ red center), with the connection of Pain and Hate forming a cross with the direct bond between death and fear (yellow w/ small red center).
Proceeding up the towards the chain of being, leads to what I call the equator of emotions. Cling/stillness/resolve is the grey region connecting all body's of feelings as the Moses, the leader of the Exodus and the appellation of the celestial globe. It binds Love and Know laterally to one another, while connecting the Vault of Virtue to the Basement of Abasement.
Xan Abyss Nov 2017
He is the one who rules through flame
Wild in spirit and mind untamed
From the savage lands he came
To liberate and break our chains
Warrior of the Storm
Commander of the Dragon Force
Ambassador of War
Horror story with a magic sword

See him rise on wings of death above the fire
See him soar on winds of gore above the battlefield and higher
Hear the roar of his Wyvern
Towards the war they're flying
A nightmare which strikes fear
In the hearts of all mankind

Fly, Dragon Rider
The King of Time, the God of Light
He forged an entire
Empire in the Shadows of the Night

She is the one, a rose in the blaze
Hailing from a place that nobody knows by name
In Magia Draco Ignis
She would claim her fame
Savior of the lost and hopeless
Slave Emancipator

She's a sight to behold as she fights in the cold
A blur of beauty and violence as she upholds the knight's code
Hear the singing of the stinger as it spears the winds of winter
A vision nigh-invincible
Dominates the hate below

Fly, Dragon Rider
The Queen Divine, Goddess of Might
Like flies to a Spider
The wicked tyrants fall before her eyes

And when they are joined together
They'll conquer the realms of Earth and Heaven
And worlds beyond perception
A Neogalactic Inception
A Universe Resurrected
Where the Drakon hold Dominion
They will keep us in line as they once did
And that will be just the beginning
will19008 Feb 8
I believed you lost your ability to hurt me
long ago

and I do like to think that remains true
even now


[but you still have the ability to cut me deeply
in so many unforeseen ways]
brandon nagley Jun 2015
Ignis fatuus reverie
Vigil me in mine torpor
Douse me in voltaic lava
Be mine mi amour'

Facade me in thy fancy
Include me in thy life
For a king I'm trying to hand thou
For a queen to be mine wife!!!

Compose me to mine worries
**** this juice up off mine tongue
Where honey bees and huckleberry
Floweth well,
And wherein dry doth not run!!

Garb me in the coffin
Observe the beast I am
Unslave me from mine shackles
Say I do, I'll say I'm your man!!
mike Feb 2015
if you have a glow of light on youre face
you're a witch.
an ignis fatum is a spirit
trying to share your body.
a kahuna speaks to other worlds
and can show you
in a bowl of liquid.
if you have the technology
and you have the good intentions
it can be fixed.
but all the progress is dogma.
Under the waxing moon
Where safety is secured in -
the throes of madness
Where ambiguous , vocal figurines annotate abject sadness* ...


* Reversus de pit ignis Ad .. .. Amen: alleluja habitabo in medio populi mei misericors deus in misericordia* ..
Copyright February 7 , 2018 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved

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