Elegancy from darkness born

Here in the nakedness lays the spill bequeath of my cloak              
No smoke screen yes the blood rise of its moat                   
The deliverance of your soul I spit on your grave                   
The blood of your destruction shall be paved                   
From the witch, the Mambo’s blood shall spill                  
Upon this day forward it shall be thy will                   
To asunder the Pagan’s moon, your fruits shall bear no more                   
To the cacodemon’s whore you must pay your dues, from my ancestral oath, fourscore                   
             
Close your eyes, claws shall pleasure you in the temple of doom                   
From the East, West, North, South, brimstone caresses shall be your gloom                   
Unto the bride you lay, sterile passion giveth from the loins of thy groom                   
You shall feel the wraith of pained love                   
The silence of blessings, black gloves in mourning, your funeral unto the eyes of your Dove                   
No relief of comfort shall rain on the weariness of your head, or promises to subside will ever come from above                       
The seal of Revelations unto your household has been broken            
Calls of redemptions, unto deafness it echoes of tierney, more suffering will be awoken              
At the speed of light, scarred truth, hearts mangled in head on collisions                
To the indistinct mind, the fragility of the heart              
Shall be separated by fiery divisions                  
             
I sacrifice your life for the fallen adversities down to the marrow of my bone              
To give unrest, without compassion wherever thy bitter tongue roams                 
No rest in your journey, a chaotic dwelling now becomes your home                   
From the blood of the sacrificial lamb I drink in your honor in the midnight hour                  
Darkness reign, light comes no more, sipped, and swallowed so shall it be done promised upon the fifth power                       
To the calling of my Haitian Loa, to my ancestral calabash rattle              
I spit on your grave and your waxen generations to come              
Unto the grave you wallow, or in your Urn, ashes-to-ashes dust-to-dust of your temple shall lay as one              
Your soul, your money, your bearing passage, your emotions, will be devoured, no amour for a mortal of Job’s earthly battle to continue on            
Tenebrous by the moon            
Devoid of passion saturated in the coldness of fiendish then gone too soon           
You see me so clear, no obscurities of me                  
I dance on your grave in the calling of the pythoness’ blue moon victory            
           
         

American gods  

Aspiring gods.  
The outer limits.  
A famed forest.  
Light (+) Shadows.  
 
Stygian wave form.  
 
A ritual written.  
Channeled (+) Transmitted.  
The forbidden.  
 
Haze smoke/3am air.  
Four alien eyes.  
The path is there.  
 
A dark thought.  
Ocular surface -  
And into the mind.  
 
The daring of youth -  
(+) the quest for truth.  
 
Breaking away and breaking free -  
Of this plastic superficial society.

For on my bed a seeing eye  
the thunder in the distance  
rumbles.
The heavy hand that stalks my soul  
and pulls it down.  
Poppies in the withered fields  
amongst the dead to ever stumble  
and on my mask  
the ever painted frown.  
 
A candle spits upon its taper  
a pause to extinguish or survive,  
like organ pipes where notes  
rise like ashes from the crater,  
and shadows move if brought alive.  
 
With stifulled tear, the ebbing tide  
for some have walked a gentle slope.  
Not fought with demons, spit purple fire of vitriol,  
some the Davey lamp, the coalface choke,  
pneumatic drills, the blasting hole.  
Toil to break, while others warm their toes  
calcify my bones and melt my flesh  
and sing the sombre suite, that's death  
 
The fog that swirls,  
each signpost blank