To Whom It Serves the Triumphant Destiny
In this lost garden of souls Words do not form speech As sound has fallen. This mute song for the God of the Dead Spreads its chagrin disease. The song turns a corpse Shadowing shroud remains. It Howls in charming method. lamenting. rhythmically Who sees me, perfidious In the shadow of the trapdoor? ricocheting light? Inexpiable in my punishment? I sing fatality So, Would you follow? The loose breathe Torn against the massive sky. At the abyss it craters An incessant deception drags you to the depths In unholy land. Lightning crawls for this God. This God of loneliness Riding the shoulders of Hell. I am miserable and disturbing. I loathe myself to bereft the landscapes. Vest them with devastated trees, Endow them in crestfallen men. A bestiary rushing up. Shaking all. That unforeseen dawn Sings me as sullen wistful but patient. Radiating the pain. Diffusing the vastness. Of my pandemic moan
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 06, 2026
The inclined towers the oblique skies The cars descending into the void of roads The creatures along the country lanes Branches covered with hospitable virtues With leaf-shaped birds at their crowns You walk but another walks in your footsteps Distilling her spite through fragments of memory and math Enveloped by a robe almost mute the clotted sound of capitals I speak to you across cities I speak to you across plains My mouth is upon your pillow Both faces of the walls come meeting My voice discovering you I speak to you of eternity The seething city dense both with proud cries and lights Overflows the saucepan of its eyelids Tears flow away in streams of wretched population Over the sterile plain towards the smooth flesh the lava Of shadowy mountains the apocalyptic temptations Lost in the landscape of a memory and a darkened rose I roam the narrow streets around you While you too roam different wider streets Round something other
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 06, 2026
Aye, me Dead for more than 3 thousand years, Placed on a rock, at the mercy Of shades and wanton winds. A wand spectrum, a dim ghost Shapeless in my vacuity ... Only the Spirit is life: an astral voyager Anchored in an inexorable thought: "I am Dead, they buried me alive!" My torment I know to have lived, for no more than a day, For at the second day - Idolatry They gave me an altar and a cult ... They say they glorify me. As if I were someone! They said I was a God ... and shrouded me!
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 06, 2026
The Disciples of light have never invented anything but a very opaque darkness The river rolls the small body of a woman and that means the end is near The widow in her wedding dress heads the wrong procession we all will arrive late at our graves A ship of flesh gets stuck on a narrow beach The waves are waiting impatiently closer my Lord to thee The helmsman asks the waves to speak They speak The night seals its bottles with stars and makes a fortune Large counters are built to sell nightmares But they can't satisfy the Queen of Cold This soul swears it won't ever leave at night to pick sage between the feet of salt statues Upon this a little saltcellar Cerberus gets on his thin hind legs with difficulty He empties into my plate what is left of my life You'll put a lifesaver on my grave What to salt the Pacific Ocean with? He empties into my plate what is left of my life The Disciples of light have never invented anything The waves are waiting impatiently closer my Lord to thee The helmsman asks the waves to speak They speak The night seals its bottles with stars and makes a fortune The river rolls the small body of a woman and that means the end is near we all will arrive late at our graves You'll put a lifesaver on my grave
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 06, 2026
The fire that dances the bird that sings the wind that dies the icy waves And the surges of rumour in the ear of distant cries of the day that passes all the weary flames the voice of the voyager all the powder in the sky the heel on the earth the eye fixed on the road Where steps are inscribed which the number unrolls to the name that have left in the folds of the clouds the unknown face the one which you watch and which has not come Anchises navel draping of the sea the hands Erasmus dipped in gleaming tides gathered the voltage of blown blood and vine delve upward for the new and scattered wine Oh brother thief of time that we recall distinctly praise the years whose volatile blamed bleeding hands extend and thresh the height of imagination spans beyond despair outspacing bargain vocable and prayer And daffadillies fill their cups with tears to stew the laureate heurse where Lycid lies for so to interpose a little ease let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 06, 2026
The stone cocks turn to crystal they defend the dew with battering crests and then the charming flash of lightning strikes the banner of ruins The sand is no more than a phosphorous clock murmuring midnight through the arms of a forgotten woman no shelter revolving in the fields is prepared for Heaven's attacks and retreats It is here Evil gathers its strength quite near
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 06, 2026
Night jostles her stars it rains sand and cotton it is so hot but silence weaves sighs and the glory of summer signals a little bit everywhere of heated crimes of people who'll overthrown thrones and a great light in the West and the East tender like a rainbow it's noon now all the bells answer Noon waiting deaf like a great animal gets its limbs out of all four corners it advances its claws the shadow and the beams The sky will fall on our heads
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 06, 2026
People gather to sorrow evermore the infinite void They Raise their arms to the distant sky And apostrophizing the invisible gods, They cry out: Impassive gods, Why have you created us?! To whom it serves the triumphant destiny, We who incessantly generate Pain, sin, illusion, horrour, In a cruel whirlwind and raving ... Was it not better to have forgiving peace Where nothing would exist but void, Having peace to sleep forever? Why to this pain have you summon us? But the gods, with an utterly trembled voice, sigh: Men! why have you created us? To whom it serves the triumphant destiny To whom it serves the triumphant destiny
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 06, 2026