Veritas diaboli manet in aeternum: Chaining the Katechon

In a place beyond all resistance Devouring the roots of the bush of fire Forsaken even by the crows The dream of the abortion of Babylon shivers And stuttering words As mere echoes in the desert Vanish in those lower spheres Where shame is unknown. It is a vain Earth. A vision, final, of deceit. There can be no refuge In this grotesque liquid flowing Where shapes melt into each other Where cause becomes consequence. To err with the insane In hostile immensities How legitimate is the faith into despair ? A bond of hallowed essence between all that pulsates it is the primeval degradation the erosion, the crumbling, the everlasting scission. It is disturbance and anxiety As absolutes, for the world is becoming. Still, a temple stands And a star shines. The slopes slaver pus Towards the skies and the thorn Courts the wound. The sun of dolour shines : They enter in its brilliance Those who are divided With their dazzled mouths, The eerie ray of exile Shall be their guide. Scattered they walk towards The incestuous womb. The fertile womb of two And three and all. The weight of these bodies In the shallow waters Shatters the poise. There is a tear of fire In the sky of the worlds. There is a tear of fire And your tongue of light Caressed by the silent leprosy Of your palate Whispers about the gulch of lies The tranquil occupation of agony The dire liquors of a mass-grave And the perilous pedagogy of the abyss. We went to the trough, Lord. We went bend and convulsed. We saw blood, Lord. It was glittering. You dispensed it and we drank it. We saw your image. The gap of our eyes and mouths is void. We went bent and convulsed. It broke us and dissolved us. Liable for the core of the origins There remains a pulsating debt Radiant in its multiple scissions It stands between the mother And her repudiated child Behind the hand that murders And amid attempts of reconciliation. The dispersion of woe on a vain Earth Is done with equity. Le verdict ne vient pas d'un coup, le processus lui-même se transforme au fur et à mesure en verdict. The task to be achieved, human vocation Is to become intensely mortal Not to shrink back Before the voices coming from the gallows tree A work making increasing sense By its lack of sense In the history of times there is But the truth of bones and dust. Thinly grinded to white powder In the mill of fragmentation You give it to brothers and sisters The remains of the Oath Vague echoes of a day of midnight The advent of that which never was The coming of a man from the grave. Still a temple stands And a star shines. Unceasingly, those who can not be one Exchange their rings In an arched world Exhausted by the division The stale principle of stellar times. A ford alike Between the crimson rivers Carrying along their murky waters Countless extinct cradles. Merely a glance ahead Resonates the wailing of flowers Under such a suffocating heat That men entered into gestation You hold a palimpsest of dolour Once forgotten that the fall Is our fall. That death is no channel Anymore to rejoin the clay of a fractioned God. The act of a free man Connected to the balance of the world Projects itself into the infinite But the fracture Its ontological ballast The dispersion and the overcoming Bring a harvest of increasing conflict A descending spiral of splinters Lacerating the meridians. The temple stands Its walls a prison For the Katechon While the plowshare grates On the crystal hard and vivid tear And blood pours from the furrows While the star shines high No place to cover from Its rotten light Ho- sanna Ho- san- na Ho- san- n- a