Face Of Balaam
if you wander through the atmosphere of a quiet afternoon Near the old citadel that anybody can see anymore, Take time to feel the fine wounds coming from frostbite! He was flying above our realms It’s what he whispered when I saw him He’s moving like into a silent dance Keeping his slender body near the vivid Hearth of his vicious habits, Playing with a little smile, with these thousand memories! But the Sun fell without noise and I’m always walking, Into these Gardens, staring at the stars, Trying to understand why we must go so far, In order to find a such a close answer. Once again, I cross his path.. It’s so weird; he doesn’t see me But his gaze was hanging near the same place than mine. The higher the wings rise the more I know that he’s getting to me The black snow begins to slide along my veins But it continues to be there Like the shade of a hand on my neck I didn’t succeed To deceive it.. The northern breath began to blow hardly When I climbed on the rampart in order to see how The world shakes when the humans begin to fly.. The old and forgotten persons told me, one day But it’s the Madness who locked, and trapped us I understand very well, when, I see the far house’s lights Those are burning the night clothes of the Forest. At the moment where I began to cry.. I feel.. His Shadow in my heart...
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Apr 23, 2025
The dead body lies in the moving meadows And then, at the twilight, It rises like a summer fragrance The river regains its murmur I was searching for the face of Balaam But I only found his reflection I was looking for him, I trod the grass Who was lying down by his feet My eyes opened, filled with horror During the broad dreams I burnt in a fever My visage, lost and drowned, At bottom and upon the river I was searching for the face of Balaam But I only found his reflection I was looking for him, I trod the grass Who was lying down by his feet I drank the drops Who were put down by his hand. And even so, I rested alone. The black snow consumed my days The black snow scorched my nights But this cold, this so terrible and growing cold, Even Balaam couldn’t name it In the middle of my sleep, when I tried to mimic the stones I perceived the white skies that slid immutably All along of the unfriendly scarf that he wore. I was searching for the face of Balaam But I only found his reflection, his reflection He wandered over the valleys and the mounts And the black snow continues to burn us As far as our homes. And his body lies, totally lost in the corn, lost in the corn Smoothly, grass bent itself Like in order to lull him… to lull him… But he was already lying. He was already lying!
Submitted by MetalElf — Apr 23, 2025
With a slow gesture, I dress myself with the reddish colours of the twilight, Just before the moment where I’ll see burn the whole leaves that are heming these fields. Summer was warm and vibrating.. All along of this cohort of furrows, the dead seeds are hiding themselves. Under the plants that’re trying to flee us by rooting into the skies. My bare feet are creeping into this warm ground but I can’t find, can’t feel, can’t play with their silent bodies. Why can’t I be back into this obscure womb in order to begin everything, once again? My bed’s under a gigantic cathedral. A cathedral who’s humming, vibrating and slowly moving.. ..and I’m seeing them.. During the heat of my plays, I ran and I embraced but during all of these times, it grew inside me. Its long and lurid leaves gradually covered my organs. On the furrows of fields, like a wind filled with rememberings, My hope is flying away….with my so vain illusions.. Their faces are like the blades of grass, they’re surrounding me and the water that flow (away) is scaring. Why I didn’t mind to the tormented voice of my soul? Why I didn’t hear anything at all? The twilight like a torn cloak, holding a skull in my hand while I’m guarding by the supple, silent feet of a lion, I’ll re-ascend the road to undo what you have done and what you will become! On the furrows of fields, like a wind filled with rememberings, My hope is flying away….with my so vain illusions.. On the furrows of fields, like a wind filled with rememberings, My suffering finally is dispersed! At the end of my summer while holding his hand, At the end of my summer while holding his hand, ..I’m going back home.
Submitted by BloodShrine — Apr 23, 2025
Even if one of my friend went down Into the concentric and putrid caves Parceling the circles of Hell, And if one-another was hit by an unknown light When he crosses the eyes of Laura Under the soiled flags of Babylon, where slept the popes, I don’t know if they lived the kind of horror that I’m living when I cross a new face Or when a shadow moves behind my still back. I sleep under the straw, hoping to go back to the very beginning, just before I knew to calligraphy Certaldo’s prestigious name. In order to avoid their their hostile hands, I hide myself under the straw to sleep ..and when I wake up, the cattle is already dead, their flesh’s blackening and all of these prayers and all of these mournings are just a prelude before their silences. The moment where I was warm and where her breast was so soft Theses breasts are only artifices, hiding the black snow’s hearth. What it flies and copulates with the High-Winds in order to go back and to decimate everyone by my sides. In order to avoid their hostile hands, I hide myself under the straw to sleep ..and when I wake up, the cattle is already dead. When I was to the gates of the city, They already were lying on the ground, As in prayer, teeth clamped by the soil. The motionless eyes, the blackened skin, Buboes filled with toxic liquid And all of these persons as forgotten in death, These thin women who breastfeed their dead children The Plague-Lord passed through the gates after the blackened snow, the miasma of his minions. The Plague-Lord is hidden. When he is feared, he rapes our souls and marries our fleshes.
Submitted by Grave666 — Nov 12, 2025
This silent, cold moment Where the Shade is going through the orchards Eyes are opened during these dreams and then, return without sound to the stones. When, under the noxious winds, Eternal gardens dying away, We will see the bloom of a thousand buds On the tree of Balaam! During the Fall of souls, The silent harvest isn’t a vain task, when the Shade is haunting The orchard. Death caresses the decrepit bodies How can you be certain that Death is a gift, A power that everyone possesses? On the straw-bed of my cold chamber, Where the roof has been destroyed by the assault from the skies I’m filled with anguish (when I let the blade run on my arm), To be unable to die, unable to perish, to stop breathing! Sometimes, there exists monstrous things, more impious that Death itself! How to flee if we’re unable to do it? Terminated under the yoke of torture Without anything to stop this nightmare When the shade invades the eternal orchard Maybe we’ll lose the ability to die.. When the whole baleful winds Will dance in circles Around Balaam’s tree It will be the very last thing Before the terrible bloom. If our flesh burns under the December sun and eyes shut and divided like dreams. When, under the toxic winds, Eternal Gardens are dying away, At last, it flourishes the buds, On the hideous -and victorious- tree of Balaam!
Submitted by NecroLord — Apr 23, 2025