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Ending Death’s Blight
- Ending Death’s Blight -
In the rapt dark of night’s velvet adoration,
I commit the idolatry that is my favored sin…
Worshipping the beauty that haunts my dreams.
Oh, to pass the eve in the throes of celebration!
Let the light fade, and let the madness begin…
Deep shadows fall upon all, like ebony streams.
I care not for the laws of gods, of long centuries,
For had they a care for any but their own sort…
They wouldst not hath abandoned their victories:
When they departed the world, as a last resort.
There are no gods, in the dark of my design…
Only bliss, the likes of which is beyond paradise!
There is no ambrosia: on which immortals dine,
Only more perfect sustenance, than any devised!
We shall become the deities of a new Olympus,
As the chaos of passion, is dignified by beauty,
Creating order and structure in this way thus…
The raising up of perfection, for a great destiny!
My blood rages in my veins, fire: begetting fire.
Lending magic to a ceremony both holy, pure,
And yet unholy, for it was wrought of desire…
For something lovely that was and once more:
Shall be again, in the name of forgotten forces.
Do I see within the shadows, her form rising?
What of the Guardian of Hell, who enforces,
The souls who can be freed, when doth ring:
The ceremonial bell, held by trembling hand!
I ring the bell; I call the names most shunned.
And she will rise again, by my high command!
The hour of witchery is nigh, the magic begun.
Child of the draconic mysteries, she intones…
I come at that calling, and soon to so remain,
At thy side, as it was when I had flesh, bones:
And warmth of blood and sinew: unrestrained.
The dark angels, bear witness, as heat rises…
But until the cycles permit and the stars align,
The Old Ones will not heed even of my cries:
Allowing her return, even with the elder sign!
So, though she speaks to me, her face white,
Still wet, with the waters of the river Arges…
She must return, at the close of the black rite.
Such is the law of dark powers such as these!
Even amidst chaos, order must be maintained.
My blood gave her temporary life, but short,
For as the summoning ended naught remained.
The brides of darkness offer me little comfort!
One day beloved mine I will restore thy breath.
The river where thou didst leap will not keep,
That which is mine alone, free from old death.
But I am mortal now, so bound in power too!
I bide my time, waiting whilst the stars all turn.
When they align just right, dreams come true…
And my flame will rise but not consume, burn:
Or scorch, but rather to heal what naught can.
Within my blood the flame awaits to be freed,
As the Old Ones who sleep in sea and sand…
Bide their time too whilst we keep their creed.
My princess, wait if thou must for love’s sake,
Wait in darkness, knowing I wait in the night!
Call to my flame, until the hour to so partake,
Brings us full circle, ending even death’s blight.
In the rapt dark of night’s velvet adoration,
I commit the idolatry that is my favored sin…
Worshipping the beauty that haunts my dreams.
Oh, to pass the eve in the throes of celebration!
Let the light fade, and let the madness begin…
Deep shadows fall upon all, like ebony streams.
I care not for the laws of gods, of long centuries,
For had they a care for any but their own sort…
They wouldst not hath abandoned their victories:
When they departed the world, as a last resort.
There are no gods, in the dark of my design…
Only bliss, the likes of which is beyond paradise!
There is no ambrosia: on which immortals dine,
Only more perfect sustenance, than any devised!
We shall become the deities of a new Olympus,
As the chaos of passion, is dignified by beauty,
Creating order and structure in this way thus…
The raising up of perfection, for a great destiny!
My blood rages in my veins, fire: begetting fire.
Lending magic to a ceremony both holy, pure,
And yet unholy, for it was wrought of desire…
For something lovely that was and once more:
Shall be again, in the name of forgotten forces.
Do I see within the shadows, her form rising?
What of the Guardian of Hell, who enforces,
The souls who can be freed, when doth ring:
The ceremonial bell, held by trembling hand!
I ring the bell; I call the names most shunned.
And she will rise again, by my high command!
The hour of witchery is nigh, the magic begun.
Child of the draconic mysteries, she intones…
I come at that calling, and soon to so remain,
At thy side, as it was when I had flesh, bones:
And warmth of blood and sinew: unrestrained.
The dark angels, bear witness, as heat rises…
But until the cycles permit and the stars align,
The Old Ones will not heed even of my cries:
Allowing her return, even with the elder sign!
So, though she speaks to me, her face white,
Still wet, with the waters of the river Arges…
She must return, at the close of the black rite.
Such is the law of dark powers such as these!
Even amidst chaos, order must be maintained.
My blood gave her temporary life, but short,
For as the summoning ended naught remained.
The brides of darkness offer me little comfort!
One day beloved mine I will restore thy breath.
The river where thou didst leap will not keep,
That which is mine alone, free from old death.
But I am mortal now, so bound in power too!
I bide my time, waiting whilst the stars all turn.
When they align just right, dreams come true…
And my flame will rise but not consume, burn:
Or scorch, but rather to heal what naught can.
Within my blood the flame awaits to be freed,
As the Old Ones who sleep in sea and sand…
Bide their time too whilst we keep their creed.
My princess, wait if thou must for love’s sake,
Wait in darkness, knowing I wait in the night!
Call to my flame, until the hour to so partake,
Brings us full circle, ending even death’s blight.
Published 25th Oct 2014
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25th Oct 2014 1:46pm
This feels like a narration of a scene in the great hall...where feasting is occuring and some dark entity rising up and claiming the limelight with his enraged vocalising.
Exciting read, Jessica.
Exciting read, Jessica.
26th Oct 2014 7:13am
It has many meanings, dear Grace, this poem of mine... some subtle, some personal, and others rendered deliberately mysterious to create a grand atmosphere of mystery and darkest magic. I am glad you enjoyed reading it, my friend! It was a good one to share on here, for certain. :D
Anonymous
28th Oct 2014 7:01pm
Amazing,dear Jessica, how you have managed to blend all kinds of images here.What I see is the pagan history,revised with a seductive dark voice,dracula would rise from his ashes reading this...the coming of samheim must have inspired you
29th Oct 2014 5:00am
I am happy you enjoyed this dark but beautiful little work of mine, dear Mourganna! Indeed, the Samhain season definitely had a hand in my penning this work, one might say. Ah, ironic you should mention Dracula rising from the dead since I have rather detailed past-life memories of having been that very individual (which also had a great deal to do with my penning this poem). The more I find myself remembering of that incarnation of mine, the more darkly inspired poetry-wise I seem to be of late. So, in a way, one could say this is a poem penned by Dracula during Samhain. Dracula reincarnated but... same thing to me. Tee-hee-hee! Now, I'm off to have a drink... not wine, either. I never drink... wine. *Wink!* ;)
