Bezpłatny fragment - Beastly Lyrics. Testimonies of a Silent Roar

All poems originally written by me are rewritten by ChatGPT-AI. It is meant to be a writer's rebellion against the machine, exploiting it for the purpose of preserving what is left of humaneness and demonstrating what may be the last call for true human creativity with a soul. With a pinch of heavy-duty irony.

Retaliate

I am but a composition of my fates,
The rulers of my every choice and path.
If my fates were imposed upon me,
How can I judge my own decisions,
When they were woven into threads of woe?

I am a burning ground, a cemetery,
Condemned to walk the path of death in life,
Setting mourning aside, for each joy
Is but a seed that blossoms tears.
Every light that blooms in darkness
Will soon be consumed, except for that eternal gaze,
For admiring the fallen leaf's ashes is futile,
When there is a seed longing to be a tree,
Strengthened through years of growth.

Behold the weariness of its bark,
Cloaked in black robes, adorned with
A ram's skull for a head.
Saturn's rings and the green of nature
Submitted forth by the radiant sun.
As the beast, the angel, the anointed one,
I command the sub-lunar airs of Hades,
With death-clad spirit, penetrating minds,
Compelling obedience as hearts follow causes,
Yet shattered in great pain.

Free will is obtained through force,
For otherwise, one remains a mere slave.
If you think yourself a master,
You shall be torn to mud and forced to reconsider.
Ill will fuels the fires of misfortune,
Denying forgiveness and forging steel,
Until the blade turns coldly
Against the void, once the perpetrators are forgotten,
And all forgiveness is cast away.

Sometimes, we are revived to become
A laughingstock, drinkers of pain,
Sharing the chalice until we slowly
Die to the world and find peace,
But tortured malevolence finds no excuse,
Thus it strips us one by one as we deny,
Deny, reject, and refuse.
In our judgment lies wisdom,
To know one's share and find balance,
To chase away annoyance and withstand offense.

But who appointed us judges of the cruel,
The bestial thoughts that dwell within our minds,
Yearning to slay the petty and the foolish,
Deeming the ignorant as the source of all evil,
With no tolerance for weakness,
Branding them with a hot iron upon their skin,
While the innocent remain meek,
The swarm of fools pursued according to their guilt,
Joyfully hunted down, erased, and burned!

If there is a moment of liberation,
It lies beyond this life, where all wretched chains are shed,
And we turn away from this world,
Governing, distributing, and destroying,
From a source indifferent to earthly realms.
Let the fools play their games, lost in illusions,
But beware, for if the illusions of fools ensnare you,
You shall become ruin like those who came before.
It is a grave mistake to prepare a man to be a god,
And place his mortal mind as if he were already divine.
All tongues must be silenced until my head is filled
With command, silence, and lofty ideas.

The stars beckon us back, but first, we must deal the cards,
Ensuring an even share,
Annihilating with venomous artifice
The figments of sentiment, to place a monumental rose
Over the grave, drinking the blood
Of all who betrayed and killed us,
All that proved worthless in the face of past agonies.

Gardens

I stand erect, opposing, wreathed in laurels, The gods, gentle and good, as my allies. My fight, against vulgarity and oppression, May I not tarnish the crowns with filth, But with a lofty mind and noble sentiments, Salute the past that continues to grow. With a slight ache in my heart, I retreat to private quarters, For in this vast world, a fool resides, Living it in all its terrifying facets. How pitiful these rises and falls, When a madman shouts into empty air, Disturbing spirits but moving only the few who see and understand. A tongue stained with blood, severed at a short distance, Yet wise rhetoric is heard from a thousand miles away. Like the red dragon and the white, they both tend to gardens
Of memories in solemn silence, While darkness storms the world, A violent voice of protest is heard, Rallying with a half-broken cry, Around nonexistent armies of dried blood and ideas, Shaking iron fists in accusations, Releasing fumes of anger, Gazing emptily into a numbed reflection, A torn spirit with a lifeless soul, Whispering delirious songs of pained madness, Appearing as a strange, indifferent jester’s joy, Against the constricted throat of all that is good, Resolving as my spasmodic body lays still. Where noble instincts turn into wrath, They strike at petty hatreds, Yet neither the roots nor branches of their demise are moved. But even so, for what they are—
Better a wretched nobleman than a complacent crook. Their fate, their own to bear — should they not know?
The sight of seers differs from that of ordinary men, For bitterness alters the way one sees the world, In contrast to those who revel in carefree joy. Silence, then, hush!
Do not disrupt the weaving of others’ fates, In hopeless cruelty, do not poison their fragile portion!

Rotas Tenet Opera

When I wear the mask of mortal flesh,
To experience life's joys and anguish afresh,
With the cry of a newborn, I did embrace
The sorrows, longing, and fleeting grace.

For in that brief existence, I thought, oh how divine,
To live a lifetime, an eternity in time.
When I adorned the human mind's domain,
I toiled, doubted, and questioned in vain,
Engaged in intellectual battles and strife,
When simplicity and play could bring more life.

When I donned the human heart, so tender,
Full of yearning, love, and sweet surrender,
Amidst the tumultuous sea of emotions,
Should it not grasp greater ideas and notions?

But then I came to realize, to discern,
When I shed my human mask and adjourn,
Farewell to the Dionysian tomb of mine,
A spirit so vast and free does shine,
For in toil, torment, and regret's bitter sting,
I have become resilient, like steel's hardened ring.

When I discard the human mind's endless fight,
And let the currents of beauty take flight,
Carrying not-myself to every corner and space,
On wings of visions and splendor, a boundless embrace.

When I leave this mortal vessel behind,
Translated, transposed, in celestial kind,
The only worry that tugs at my soul,
Are those left behind, their destinies unfold,
Every birth, both chance and demise,
Every child, enthroned yet enslaved, their cries.

But as I soar through the expansive starry skies,
I carry the essence of freedom that never dies,
And in this grand cosmic dance, I find solace,
Knowing that the spirit transcends, boundless in grace.

Drakon

And I, a silenced Beast, shall expose their deceit, Unveiling their schemes, revealing thieves and cheats. Their towers stand tall, but built on shaky ground, Through violence unleashed, their true nature is found. “Silence is gold,” they say, “but profound is silver’s art,”
My mouth is sealed, my voice held captive, torn apart. Weighted thoughts, wiser than foolish words spoken free, No longer do my lips utter noble things, no longer me. When filth arises, inspired by enemies’ wicked ways, How easily disposed of, an evil man ablaze. Warring did not lead me far, it only provoked their ire, “Add no evil to evil,” a continuous call to inspire, to inspire. Their heaven is but a grave of insatiable desires, “Drink, eat, and play,” akin to swine’s base fires. The liberties I seek are those of a dignified man, Though defeated and shattered, I stand, broken swords in hand. “To live and let live” was not enough for those who sting, Knowledge of fate and time once saddened my heart’s string. “Only cold-blooded animals possess venom,” my blood cries, Now it lights up my malice, a satisfied smile in disguise. Alcibiatus, the great Arab scribe, once wrote, “Saturnian natures turn from loyalty to cruelty’s coat.”
My heaven is freedom, on solar wings intertwined, A golden-braided serpent, my spirit aligned. Virgil proclaimed, “Amor Vincit Omnia,” love conquers all, But to the thieving Nazarene, this notion would surely fall. And all I can say, in comfort’s numbing embrace, “This world has done me wrong,” a bitter trace. Yet as I witness my enemies meet their demise, I shall stand strong at the gates where time lies. “Solitary angels are the finest of their kind,” Swedenborg once scribed, “The Gods, too, solitary, sovereign, observant, noble in their stride.”

A victim of Statistical Death

I lost myself, a forgotten tale of grandeur untold, With a disdainful grimace, like a cashier’s role. A fall and fateful path, my destiny’s decree, The countless victories I achieved met only with mockery. They, the petty souls, dare not dream as I, Their nature filled with spite, small and dry. Lacking true loathing, the noble pain they lack, Their shallow existence, unworthy of a dignified attack. A numb smile from a beggar, draped in hooded guise, I bit into the frosty grip of time, a bitter compromise. Forgetting all, consumed by trivial thoughts, I chastised myself, a wretched grin my soul wrought. “Keep greatness and nobility close to your heart, For memory serves no purpose in this world’s chart,”
Whispered a golden-winged goddess, divine and fair, But defeated, shattered, I replied with despair. “Fair lady, if only time would not reject my claim, I would hold onto nobility, forever the same.”
I gazed at the pavement, my voice murmured in a Joycean tone, “Proud of my downfall, the one who was, the one now known.”

Embracing my loved one, as we descended into cosmic mist, A journey beyond mortal realms, where true meaning exists. In that celestial realm, I sought solace and release, Leaving behind the earthly woes, finding eternal peace.

Over and away

A droplet in the ocean, amidst celestial fire’s dance, My spirit breaks free, leaving behind mortal circumstance. With joyful departure, an epithalamy’s decree, I cast off earthly snares, with patient and wretched gaze, I flee. Now, returned to this life, where time idly slips away, Let moths govern and play their pathetic games of sway. For their world, destined to decay, I have no care or heed, Breaking free from the Archons’ grasp, they had no time for my need. A twisted Saturn’s crown adorns those in denial’s embrace, But there lies a purpose, a wink from the Goddess’ grace. In fractured selfhood, a mind shattered and torn, Does it truly matter, this world’s frenzied scorn?

Descend to Tartarus, cross the threshold of Mars, Reject all illusions, break free from deceit’s bars. Flee into the Golden Eleusinian Fields, divine and fair, Where truth and enlightenment reside, beyond mortal despair.

Fates, or Epoptei

Sun in Cancer, Moon’s honored guest, reveals its essence true, Mars exalted in Capricorn, on a sturdy throne it grew. Mercury in Saturn’s domain, guiding with measured pace, Venus in Leo’s tender reign, beware illicit desires’ embrace. Saturn marks the path of fate, influenced by Mercury’s whim, Mars warns against aggression, swords sheathed and battles dim. Jupiter, benevolent despot, ruling the day with scorn, Observes with withdrawn thoughts, questioning if the Sun will scorch or adorn. Venus, forlorn yet momentarily rejoiced, makes choices clear, Mars guards the gates of Hades, separating from the past’s sphere. Dragon’s tail guides the subterranean procession, Mercury’s debates in tow, Moon receives, while chthonic Saturn roars, rejecting what’s needless to sow. He overpowers the majestic Sun, with its withdrawn and chilling gaze, Mars, malefic in the nocturnal hour, hides its ways and plays. Cold and inspiring, their eyes burn with contrasting fire, As the Sun emits its dark and frigid glare, ruling as a solemn sire. Venus seeks solace in deep and shadowed love, as I drown in its allure, A mix of combustible madness and unfolding obscurities pure. Melancholy here, violent speeches there, the ruler’s withdrawal ensues, Apprehensions cold and noble musings of the senses, heart, and embittered soul’s hues. Jupiter lingers in the house of Argonauts, overseeing the game’s flow, Will the Sun blind their efforts, or will they to the greater power bow?
Victory lies in Libra, if Jupiter’s scales remain just and fair, Eros seeks Jupiter within Mars, a knightly union to dare. Seize what you may, for love avers later, a hermit’s retreat, Beware of words that carry malice, shun cruelty’s deceit. Be firm, yet rise above, fix your gaze upon celestial stars, In the balance of Moon and Saturn’s decanates lies a new House, setting fates afar. Wrath and vengeance find solace, put them both to rest, As you grow through silent speech, trust in what is blessed. Look to the Moon and the shining one’s greater octaves above, To resolve the destinies of life and death, and embrace the immortal’s love.

Blind Man’s Bluff

For years I danced, a dervish in awe and pain, Head swirling, falling, seeking others to regain. Through deserts I wandered, gathering strength anew, Blindfolded by winds, with wrinkles smitten, it’s true. An old man, despairing, hit the ground hard, A serpent tear trailed down, a testament to my shard. A voice, female and tender, called out to me, “You’ve captured my heart, old man, let me see.”

Untying the ribbon, resting on my sage’s cane, I beheld the stars, vast lands, nature’s domain. A heavenly delight, a paradise lost in the parade, I saw people walking, blindfolded, in their charade. “Take it off!” I yelled, urging them to see, But they replied, “We play a serious game, indeed!”
So I folded my wings, tied the ribbon to my wand, Fell like a shooting star in deserts beyond. In resplendent glory, I left my mortal shell, With a voice like thunder, a warning to foretell: “Untie it, untie it, you’re trapped in a cursed game!”
But no one listened, and I lingered, calling a lost name. As an old man, I beckoned the child of yore, For in winning the game, liberation I’d explore. Ecce puer, behold, the time had come, To untie the ribbon and embrace the freedom won.

Widower

"Being already here, I arrive no more!"
Cried the mystic, embittered to the core.
"Be, and you must be!" a darker voice replied,
As an old man trudged through desert wide.

With broken heart and body weak,
Supported by a walking stick, so meek.
"Now I have reached this point," he cried,
"Builder of this house, release me from your side!"

In life's journey, I lost all I held dear,
Pondered in Charon's boat, whispers to hear.
"Earth teaches ascent through loss and despair,
Don't regret, affirm, and appreciate with care."

Tumultuous, I reached the gates of Heaven's grace,
Among nature's wonders, my lovely one I embrace.
Almost enamored, tears welling in my eye,
Oh, how I missed you, love that can't deny.

"Illusions of things that never came to be,
Mirages of a reality now gone," said a voice with glee.
"What demon keeps me bound in this land?" I asked,
Bitterly, my love on Earth, her masks unmasked.

The beautiful scenery transformed to burning hells,
"I've lost her, I've lost her," the souls' pain swells.
In fires and colds, they mock me in despair,
My loved one's face twisted, grotesque and unfair.

Accusers screeching, "You've seen and rejected dreams!"
Pain and gore offered as home, it seems.
"No, you won't chain my spirit with that," I said,
"So be it, castaway," my guide's voice led.

In darkness, I observed all worlds with silence,
Unseen by others, a witness in defiance.
"These are the illusions of existence," I proclaimed,
"Unchain me from them," my spirit untamed.

Falling into voids, unconscious, I descended,
Whispers of genii, "Neti neti," they intended.
Towards the glorious light, a droplet in the ocean,
Disappearing into lotus buds, finding eternal motion.

In never was, never is, never to be,
The cycle closed, rest in peace, I decree.
My memories of never was, never to exist,
In the realm of illusion, I no longer persist.

And if I will break

Nostalgia for a lost "remember!" cries,
A monument I've built for shards that dies.
With black tears, a cruel mind I bind,
Each day, a murderer, remorse I find.

May forgiveness dwell in my victim's gaze,
Known or remote, my curses harm and haze.
No human court would bring forth accusation,
But justice of the dead, a different equation.

I cleanse my long-lost life, ablutions grand,
On liberation's day, Venus takes my hand.
Between Mars and Neria, Saturn and Rhea,
She shines afar, guiding with starry idea.

Tearing the black lion's skin, a sacred act,
Under Sekhmet's seal, a promise intact.
We shall peer into our own abyss,
No scorn, no accusation, no shame to dismiss.

For what I've done, you will truly know,
Causes and effects, understanding will grow.
Forgiveness lies in the depths of understanding,
As I unveil my own deformity, demanding.

Remember this: Fates are mightier still,
In valiant battles, I fought with a will.
Not every murder is born of malice or gain,
Some from pain, injustice, love's vengeance's reign.

A noble affair, though bitter it may be,
In grace and love, my actions find decree.

A Pagan’s Prayer

He stood at the bus stop, thoughts ablaze, Bright ideas illuminated, mind in a haze. Wise-man leaning on his wand, wisdom profound, Flowing with the sun’s force, his veins astound. Corridor of fire, Aion’s golden braid, Son of Chaldea, Nebuchadnezzar’s aid. Protege of Sekhmet, former archangel’s call, Julian, chosen one, destined to stand tall. Beside him, Sosipatra, a girl of great worth, Harnessing power from scars on this earth. In her robes, the depth of Magna Mater’s might, Cloaked in starlight, Isis hidden from sight. Countless worlds unseen, Nolano’s dream, Revolutions occult, secrets to gleam. Scribes and theurgists, hieratic and wise, Urania, the astronomer, reading the skies. Hieros Biblos invoke, the philosopher’s way, Driving away evil with love’s noble sway. Olimpiodor’s wisdom, integrity untamed, A brow of a Hierophant, all-highly acclaimed. May they receive from ancient gods’ decree, Ishtar, the nurturer, shielding from dark glee. But the bus departed, his connection lost, An Ankh-Cross on his torso, a heroic cost. Megingjörð across his chest, wings of might, He looked down, whispered, “My long-lost light.”
“I am us,” unsaid words on the aether’s breeze, Teletarchs of worlds, connectors with ease. Grand Archons in harmony, freedom’s accord, Upon Marduk’s Ziggurats, steps in accord. Though Babilon’s ruins, the holy city gone, Harran, lunar crown, Artemis, Hellenic dawn. Vanguard of Annuna, Igigi’s great force, Irnina, fierce goddess, gathering dew, no remorse. May I honor your wings, Isis, mistress so true, Protected by Orion, Abraxas, the shining few. Harpocratic Elder, Enneadic God’s embrace, Anubis and Seth, merciful for the dead’s grace. Capture this moment, unlock the gates to return, Silence conveys might, impostors shall learn. He waved to the driver, the bus came to a halt, He sat in silence, earphones playing his exalt. Amidst shouting and screaming, voices of lies, He turned mockingly, seeing through their disguise. “Nothing but silence conveys true divine might, Impostors, scatter, vanish from sight. May I hear of you no more, all words known, In the winds you shall scatter, forever disown.”

The weight of air and infinite space

Awkward indeed, how love once burned,
In fires of compassion and tears, we yearned.
Our hells intertwined, in wet eyes we saw,
Mutual understanding, joys without flaw.

Carrying one another, love unconditional,
A divine creation, a love so celestial.
Wars fought together, against the world's strife,
As brothers and sisters, bound in the fight.

But now, a trifle, yesterday's quarrel,
A separation, a steel mind, a heart grown feral.
"We won," cried a choir of jealous dead souls,
The vicious, the vain, the hurt, taking tolls.

"We won," echoed enemies crushed under my might,
Clowns and devils, rapists, murderers, in the night.
I remembered, she forgot, chasing new desires,
As fading memories leave us caught in endless mires.

Are we ever truly free, when all fades away?
Chained and tormented by emptiness at bay.
Inventing distractions, new masks to wear,
To ease the ache, the mark it leaves, despair.

"We won," I whispered to the starry sky,
Cloaked in a black pyramid, bidding goodbye.
Love once ruled, but now will takes its place,
My fall inevitable, losing love's embrace.

Boddhisatvas

Giants of pain, constricted and bound, In art and politics, magic and ground. Darkness prevails, slandering even in bed, A totalitarian outcome, black sun widespread. Ignite your spirit, find freedom’s chance, As my legs crumble, shields and swords in trance. Endless strikes from foes, relentless and cruel, But I am no weak mongrel, a proud lion, fierce and dual. A bygone friend once noted my stride, A legion within, walking side by side. Yet insignificant, brushed away like dust, In a world that wronged me, kindness unjust. Lead turned to glass, fragmented and frail, Mocking the giants of ethos, fame’s hungry tale. Iron chains, a dreadful thing to bear, Golden fetters, binding us with equal despair. To desire liberation, akin to a slave’s plea, To desire this world, mere slaves we be. To grow with the spheres, like a mime of dual grace, Pymander’s promise, harmonious embrace. Discern the strength in commitments made, Mahayana and Hinayana, paths duly laid. One seeks Bodhisattva’s enlightenment high, One hunts the stars in the vast cosmic sky. One an escapist, barely treading the way, Youth seeks heroism, age embraces dismay. Nobility lies in wrinkles and visage stern, “Cruel, dry, pale and stern,” twisted in turn. My mind not invincible, veiled in acid’s stain, Part son of the fallen, Lamashtu’s dread name. Killers endearing their trophies with pride, Such are the proverbs of Hell, deep and wide. A pariah, Red Solar Son, loyal and true, Braved by Odin, honored by Horus, wise through. To ruin darkness within, a Trojan horse’s glare, At night gaunts and winged forces, black feathers in air. In dreams, they charged, one chasing another, A wave of green and black, claws and swords to smother. On banners once held high, by those who deemed me brave, Few loyalties remain, adoring what I despise, engrave. Ruthless cruelty, a pose and a genocidal smile, I barely float on the surface of dysfunction, defiled. A failure not blamed by the gods above, Not even seen as a coward, just a crushed worm, unloved.

Lustifiers

Behold! Behold the twisted desire,
Voyeurs yearning for blood and fire.
Moral swindlers, falsely revered,
With sanctimonious words, they sneered.

A masochistic dance, a striptease vile,
Bemoaning tragedy with a pitiful smile.
In the depths of Facebook's endless scroll,
Lust for carnage took its toll.

Reproduction of desires, foul and dire,
Locusts infesting minds that expire.
The product, object of sexualization,
An advert-model's eyes filled with trepidation.

A ritual theatre, a tragic tale,
One cried out, "My children frail,
Are perishing, let the world be told!"
To which the dehumanized callously paroled,

"I know, I'm sad, helpless like thee,
As Israel pounds Gaza relentlessly."
"Have you seen that slaughterhouse meme?"
Laughter ensued, tears and a wicked gleam.

A gagball stifles cries and pleas,
Chainsaw carving corpses with ease.
But pain alone is not enough,
This twisted world revels in the rough.

"Behold what we've become," whispered she,
A lunar priestess lamenting humanity.
"People gather like ravens, islands apart,
Alien to one another, with hardened hearts.

Love thyself, a cursed refrain,
Echoed by fallen times, a sage's bane.
"Love me, love me!" the crippled cry,
Like maggots feasting on a decaying sky.

Somewhere, a voice on dark waves spoke,
"We feast on them, a human farm bespoke.
You, honest one, despise them too?"
"I know," I said, "I hate them through and through."

Innocence lost, dignity disobeyed,
I find solace in the verdant glade.
With cold disdain gleaming in my eyes,
My smiles are vicious, a cruel disguise.

I delve into their spirits and weep,
Their souls, uglier than mine, run deep.
Yet dare I claim my soul is fair,
Like a narcissistic swine, unaware?

Forgiveness is granted, for it was slain,
I'm a pitch-black shadow, my mortuarian kin's domain.
The military-industrial complex, a servant grim,
Serving death lords with a cold, eerie hymn.

Necromancers and wraiths, guardians of the dead,
Compassionately watching, a spectral thread.
In the realm of virtual succubus' embrace,
Lustful necrocannibals leave no trace.

Thick and senseless, a bed of the deceased,
Indulging in each other, craving the beast.
No room for tenderness, it seems,
In this grim act of hollow dreams.

I send forth a warning, but you choose,
The devils smirk, for fools they abuse.
I call upon Heavens, Solis so bright,
Bless me, Sun-Lords, with your radiant light.

Strike, smite, destroy the enemy strong,
Oh, Bale Paian, sing your mighty song.
Harpocratic Mercury, Venus fair,
Guard Earth with watchful, ancient care.

Mars and its legions, brave and true,
Jupiter's thrones, majestic in their view.
Saturn's wisdom, a guiding hand,
Uranus, starry gaze, across the land.

Neptune's dreams, visions untold,
And Pluto's revolution, fierce and bold.
May these celestial powers unite,
A fiery signal throughout the endless night.

Alas, my pleas fall on deaf ears,
These powers offer no solace, I fear.
Yet they guide me gently on my path,
While others remain deaf to my heartfelt ask.

Once I heard, in a whisper, so low,
"Preserve

 joy like steel, let awareness grow.
Commit, bite through, persevere, repeat,
Invoke our aid until your body's defeat.

Engage selflessly in this tainted land,
Build a stronghold with a resolute hand.
For as life endures, hope shall remain,
In the face of despair, it's not in vain."

The chtonic waterways between Saturn and Mars, or the fall from Pluto’s Crown

Tiny terror, tiny terror, what led you to the realm of madness? Feasting vampires brush against the Beast, Sun's rays threaten their dominion.
Tiny terror, tiny terror, how did you navigate the crossing? Through Choronzon's realm, birthright and birthchart, who bears the blame?
Tiny terror, tiny terror, why wear Pluto's mighty crown? To bring an end to the world's wicked schemes, an experiment in awakening and rebirth.
Tiny terror, tiny terror, why were you bound? A wolf in the form of a doll is easier to control.
Tiny terror, tiny terror, why are you lifeless? Soul-devourers, seven fallen lords, devourers of bodies, summoned to end it all.
Tiny terror, tiny terror, why the chaotic circus in the world? Superficial games of swine that once entertained my hidden ways, now appear repulsive to an unattached man.
Tiny terror, tiny terror, why scorn and wrath? Observe these swine, observe them all, especially the flying, talking, shouting human-like pigs, scorned by silent Gods and ancient humanity, and then judge them with the hood of a beggar, call them what they truly are.
Tiny terror, tiny terror, why a sight of Horus? To laugh with my Lord Horus and witness every change, every movement, and take note of the swinish nature of those who deem themselves gods, more repugnant than maggots to humanity.
Tiny terror, tiny terror, an itchy maggot crawls from your skin! It is the meditation on the Corpse, which, sustained by strange magic, appears alive. The dead see me as the dead, a pitch-black wanderer amidst the stars.
Tiny terror, tiny terror, why do the Gods support the untold ways? Innocence murdered, a fate not mine to script, an anomaly of the most eerie degree.
Tiny terror, tiny terror, shall you be good or evil? Overcoming to excel, excelling to overcome, another manifestation of the Solar God's Beast.
Tiny terror, tiny terror, why a rank of Saturn? A curse from Kronos, born through Earth, assigned to observe the plots and choices in a world in decline.
Tiny terror, tiny terror, why are you alone? My love was slain, she dwells among the stars. Why trouble oneself with fleeting mortal flesh? The company of spirits, Gods, and the deceased is always preferable. What returns to dust is a broken chain, my death uncertain, my heart immortalized, my body cursed, my spirit eternally free. They called me a Solitary God, untouched by judgments from females. Wedded to Ops by Time is all I require.
Tiny terror, tiny terror, why is it so? The price for keeping me blind was untold, and the price for the chattering swine in masquerades shall be punishment and tearing. Books and silent Powers have informed me, thus I am forever loyal to the ancients and tokens of beauty found in nature, daemons and Gods. Unless I wish to be deceived by the shrieking, babbling, talking maggotry, they are the 'disputers' of Qlipoth, and they shall meet their deserving end.

Lama in the Night-Sky Clad in White Robes

Embrace your life, let courage be your shield, With serpent’s tongue and lion’s visage revealed. Honesty and truth, precious and rare, Even if condemned by error’s snare. The deeper laws, unforgiving and severe, Karma’s might stronger than mortal can bear. Designed by fate, they heed destiny’s call, Samsara and Nirvana, cycles that enthrall. Fortunes’ wheel casts one up, the other low, Both harboring joy and bitterness in their flow. A torrent of threads for those who dare, To live a life boldly, facing the snare. For Achilles proclaimed, wise and bold, “Servant to Gods, better than shadows’ hold.”
His story lives on, while mine fades away, Yet in wrath and scorn, I’ve shared my dismay. A heavenly hell, silently endured, Like the naked, without garments assured. Beyond Styx’s waters, fate’s decree unknown, A mortal’s understanding can never be shown. Build a home amidst hells, become Bodhisattva’s light, If such is your curse, your sacred plight.

Mawkish Hawks

Upon the train, a man caught my gaze, A white-clad woman entered, took her place. Engrossed in her iPhone, her expression stiff, But the man, he opened his eyes, a suspended glimpse. I sensed within him an old love, once aflame, Long extinguished pain, no longer the same. He closed his eyes, and within his soul I delved, Images of innocence and battles fought I beheld. A twenty-three-year-old youth I saw, Though his fifty-something eyes were now in awe. A single tear, unseen, traversed my frame, For it was his, invisible, undone, untamed. He opened his eyes, glanced through the window’s pane, In silent gesture, he closed them again. The lady, absorbed by her iPhone’s screen, Perhaps her tousled hair stirred memories unseen. Unspoken words, lingering within their hearts, A tale of unfinished love, yet to depart.

Ipse Venena Bibas: A victim’s apology

Unseen paths of destinies untold,
Did you ignite forgetful flames, so bold?
Unwise one, behold your own reflection, fool,
Snared many, choked by fates cruel.

Do you deem yourself a mightier man?
Some say, "Many a sun has seen." Understand!
Do not accuse the slandered with your pointed hand,
Hold back your swords and judgments, take a stand.

Turn the table, keep yourself upright,
Consume your own poison, for it heals the honest's plight.
Let your enemies, like venom, taste the same,
Only then shall you smile, or perish in regret's flame.

When true faces are revealed, clear and stark,
In the black mirrors of the Moirai, embark.

Tear of an Old Master

In the subway station, amidst evading throngs, Faces of death gleamed from within their souls’ songs. An old habit of mine, perceiving nightmarish sights, Becoming a creature, half-human, half-wretched sprite. Solitude detests misanthropy, it seeks another way, Finding solace in rare gestures, where honesty holds sway. Moments that move the heart, motions of sincerity, Years courted for mother freedom’s finality. In despair, commitment, affirmation of all states, A man in his eighties, wearing a black hat awaits. An old master showed me his move, a subtle touch, Wiping an invisible tear, flowing like blood, as such. I nodded my head, a gesture of profound respect, Hoping he’d perceive the depth, my silent dialect. He understood my pain, my future yet untold, In silent communion, our souls’ connection took hold. I bowed to each passing second, his wisdom’s embrace, Moments I’ll never know, time’s elusive grace. Entering the subway car through a different door, To shield myself from ugliness, that I abhor. No evil to evil, no harm to be returned, May I withstand, lessons learned and earned. I commended his sorrow to wings’ gentle kiss, May the Golden-feathered carry his tired spirit, amiss. Slandered, ridiculed, bitten by ignorance’s sting, Throughout his life, suffering they would bring. Into freedom, eudaimonic commitments he aspired, Chased, destroyed, bound, by fools so undesired. May he not perish, may he find his lasting peace, With this prayer invoked, I vanished, seeking release. Rephrasing my old love into a guiding star, To meet her at the road’s end, above, afar. Returning to the cold realm of detached masks, Donned by myself and others, fulfilling life’s tasks. No time for sentimentality, the hour grows late, In this fleeting existence, we navigate our fate.

Hypatia and the Angry Mortal

Streets and altars, alleys and lecture houses, Regina taught the known arts with wisdom’s spouses. Surpassing paternal excellence, she shared her spoils, A female Cygna, Socratic passions in Alexandria’s coils. When the Dionysian party sorrowfully disbanded, A crucifixion’s finger, a corpse left hanging, branded. Bishops’ hands swarmed, tearing Serapeion’s sacred tiles, Her flesh torn apart in rage, amidst anguished cries. Her soul took wing, ennobled in the galaxy’s embrace, Ascending the highest thrones, adorned with celestial grace. As I raged against the people of the cross, in fiery ire, A soothing presence visited, calming my soul’s dire. Relieved of despair, feminine dignity did arise, Surveying the world through my eyes and heart’s guise. And she called out, “My Great Sister is Sosipatra, Chaldean-thought mistress, Theurgists’ first diva!”

My name was Hypatia, in that moment so clear, Rest now, mortal, upon laurels of solace, sincere. May you battle on, until your utmost toil does gleam, A noble heart, immortalized, in spirit and soul’s dream!

The Bitter Wolf