The Ruins of Edom

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O' sacred Death, guide me across the precipice To show me the splendors of the Void, Come unto me O' sacred Death, hypostasized angel of my dreams. In hypnogogic midnight's burial sanctum interned, I lay within the coffin of the flesh. Supine and cremated like a corpse within its grave I pray thee come. Come unto me O' sacred Death And chase the radiance that alights the fixed cruciform; Ye holy sigil that grounds me betwixt darkness and light. Remove these nails with shrouded hands, That the serpent may come down from the crux And return to the nullity of the abyss. Come unto me O' sacred Death and wake me to thy vision, Blessed attendant draped in winding-cloths of bleeding shadow, Menacing in torpid and silent vigil, Knelt in sermon upon my chest. Pluck from my chest the clay-born heart And make communion of its ebb. Take from me my breath that I may speak your words And take from me the light from my eyes that I may see the darkness. Bath me in thy shadow and fill my wounds with the light of resurrection.

Submitted by Infernal Flame — Apr 26, 2025

Listen ye unto the untamable tempest That quiver the gravemount on this eve. The mysterium exhumed at the dismal shriek of Death's untimely exclamation. Where the thorn-blessed flock of Shemyaza led me to the gloom of the Holy murderer's noose as he who in pride wears the mark of lawless passion. To hang in led-black secrecy, to fall into the depths of the spectral oracle and pluck the twisted sigils of Hel's rat-torn arcana, all within Erebus' sun-blotting silence. And from this inverted elevation bless the blackest soil with my soul's mercurial seed, the marrow of my dreams shed at the ninth bell's strike, In a death-rattle or a weird cry of ghoulish lechery. To saturate the damp dungeon beneath, that the matrix of sepulchral transformation may give birth to Unnature's malformed godchild. My Will made manifest, my shape deified in abnormalities unbearable for all senses, Hidden in the grave-earth's occultation. And only but for tthe Shadow's black dog to uncover, he who pass the archon's perilous gates at the crossroads of interstellar pathways. Yet at the clamor of the Dragon's opened eye, shall even he fall lifeless down as I reach out to steal the fire of divine destiny. Yes, I seize my self-made self, the sacred offering of my wretched and withered persona and let It suckle from my heart's rubine fountain. The life-blood of Adam's kin coursing through the phantasmal trenches made clay, yet boiling from pleromal Fire - this I give as fodder for the one secret son of Belial and my recalled atavistic awakening.

Submitted by Warbringer — Apr 26, 2025

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