Souls burn in the thin air of the mountain high places
Found stone piled ever high mounds upward upon which sacrifices lay
Here the sun’s light rises red even as its setting light fades to starlit black
We are but vapor before the Lord
Barely marking a moment in time
What Law have you fullfilled that you may say you are worthy
If not all then the answer is none
For surely you are dead under the understanding of it
We were all dead once
But not for Grace given by the One
The Only Alpha and Omega
Destiny ordained that all would be cast into chains
The choice is ours
Punishment meant only for fallen angel and demon
False gods without power
If it were not for the lust and jealousy of man
Or
Before you now
The High Preist stands
The Great Comforter enshrined in the Temple of the heart
And upon the Eternal Throne
Without beginning or end
Judgement waits all
But many will not even reach this Heavenly threshold
Cast down into a Lake of Fire
Even as the last breath escapes the mouth
As a vapor cast out into utter darkness
To “Repent” your iniquity, “Accept” forgiveness, “Know” that Jesus Christ is the fullfilment of the Law, “Understand” His sacrifice was for you, and the “Resurrection” is the beggining of a New Testament for “All” the families that walk the earth.
Tag: my writing
The Oracle of the Litch
Yet my mind reaches out in thick webs of ceaseless thought
Pondering its tomb of bone and rotted flesh
Eyes that once saw the golden rays and red painted sky
Now see only images æthereal in black
Shades of the past
And the faint ghosts of a future set in myst
Yet the present goes by unseen to me
So it is
Deaths hold is but a weak curse upon me
Yet without breath
My voice is heard
A timeless chiming
Echoes of an empty hall
Awaken the daemons
Consult the daimon
Let the angels speak
Words unheard
To those yet willing to hear
Know that this is but a ripple upon the coming wave
A tsunami drapped in fire
Even as the masquerade plays out
The prophecy unfolding
Charade or riddle
Has been written by greater seer and sage
Upon yellowed scroll
Repent in acceptance of the truth
Now
Or upon bent knee
You
The days and nights now merge
Trouble and torment cascade together
Sadness and sorrow but a fond memory
The sage’s quill slowly writes
Words trace out upon invisible parchment
Ink drying before the sentence becomes complete
How odd time has become
Blind eyes seeing clearer that those from sparkling youth
The Lord gratefully granting skill in both hands
Even as the right ends its useful purpose
The left grows more in skill
I digress…
The books stack together upon the bench. Many completed for their story was short. The few that remain unfinished will perhaps never conclude. Those that believe being granted everlasting life for Death and Hell have long since past.
The Sage puts down his pen…
Pat sat comfortably in his chair. The chickens and geese happy to be out roaming the yard blessing him with ruckus crowing and the pleasant clucking of a satisfied hen. The only distraction from this pastoral paradise being the occasional black ant foraging up between pants and sock.
“Those little bastards…”
The Watcher paced about nervously. His mind distracted by the events not yet seen…
“No. That’s not right. Events not yet witnessed to.” The Sage correcting thoughts even as the scroll unrolls.
The Watcher’s pacing unaltered continues on. Even as that which is false is spoken of so too the doer is busy exalting of himself. Money and power are of this world. No greater chains were ever forged in the darkest pit. How vain those people are to trust and believe in the words of their own mouth, and works of their own hands.
“I have been here for a very long time. I have watched as the light has filtered in through the many seams and cracks of this reality. I have watched as the myriad faces flowed by. Often our eyes locking for an instant then timidly released by you in sudden fear. I see you. I know what it is to be you. Like a shadow your fate and mine are bound. There is no escape.
“I am as you are as you are as I am.”
Wise words from an even wiser man who saw only after he was blind.
This I say to you, “Repent! The glass, darkly obscuring, soon shall be removed, and you will know even as you are known.”
An Evening Shower
The dog is playing in the sprinkler
My cucumbers are almost played out in the dry heat of fall
The few drops of water that manage to land where I want seem to just bead up in the soft dust of the garden
As I watch the dragonflies and hummingbird investigate my efforts
The dog in a perfect imitation of the sprinkler runs by and shakes down the rain over me
The smell of damp dog my reward on this beautiful day
The Fear Before the Fall
A New Page from the Book of Pat, verse 12:08:25
I say everything I’ve done, it’s all make believe. Pure work of fiction. Just nonsense I babble on about.
That’s because if I forget to say it ain’t so then some ass will come along and see the reality in what’s what… then I’ll get screwed again. Just like before.
I’ve been here many times. Sat in this very same mildew stained chair. Watched the cobwebs drift down to blow eroticly about with dust bunnies upon the floor. Fixated I am. I get off transfixed at the slow movement of my own decay.
Death doesn’t come easy for the insane.
Today’s extraordinarily special for me. Lucefer and the other angels have come by for a birthday party. Sadly I am the cake.
Long sensuous fingers peel back the flesh from about my eyes. Careful to avoid the layered muscles and most of the nerve clusters. Of course temptation being one of his weaknesses the devil makes sure to pluck a few strings. My mouth quivers in the ecstasy of the moment. Here the party trick of a forced smile isn’t lost upon the revelers. Skin stretches back bringing with it hair. And just like that the wrapping paper is undone.
I don’t scream though. Only the living scream, and everyone knows I have been dead for awhile. I’ve been dead for a very long while.
If it wasn’t for the guilt I believe I’d have quit playing this game of pretend sometime ago.
I ramble… I can’t help it. It came with the dieing. Someday you’ll understand what it’s like when random braincells flash their last gasping breath of memory, and somehow you’re supposed to put shit into some kind of rational order just to be understood. A few expletives would fit here. Feel free to choose your own. I won’t mind. I may learn a new word.
Let’s go back to the party.
Like a birthday cake nimble fingers make quick work of the frosting and beautifully rose shaped flowers. The sweet red cherry jubilee pulses in the open air. Its translucent strawberry gelatin shudders orgasmic from all the festive excitement of the party goers. I take a deep thought and point out to myself that even now at the end I never was much at being the life of the party.
A seething crock pot steams over rattling it’s lid. The noise of the gurgling almost too distracting to think. Pressure builds up from all those lame ass things I should have, could have, but didn’t. No regrets…
A white hot froth simmers up to a boil. Things buried tumble up from beneath. The vapor expelled casts a ghostly shade above it all.
The scene changes. Bloody hands claw out tearing loose the worm eaten cloth about me. A revenant fresh from the rapture, emotions clash with the truth. All will see things at the same instance in time.
I know the purpose of this calling. My seeing and dreaming of things in repetitive fashion. You wouldn’t understand. At least if you’re favored you won’t. So don’t be a nameless Lot’s wife and take an errant look back. What you would see following close behind is a horror that’s been promised since the beginning.
And I know you’re not ready to know what I mean.
Memories fade to dust
Another day has come and gone
Yet time stands still unmoving
Shadows tracing intangible lines
Lose their meaning at the door
An invisible breath fills the void
Where once your presence sustained
Now only silent apparitions stalk
Marking existence with a vacant gaze
A Moment of Crazy #8
Soft Porn and Coffee
A wisp of shadow
Slender curves slips past
Like a small child playing amongst the traffic
She weaves between the burly masses
Square shoulders turn a gaze
The swift bird flits away
Carrying the scented smells of coffee and cinnamon
In her wake behind
