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Of the Devil & Baphomette #5
On the banks of the River Styx
White flowers wait to greet you
Your smile the only sweetness
Reflected in the souless depths
Nearby them they dread
You are the only sunshine
In a place that has forgotten light
You are the precious goatling
Of their forbidden pastures...
The colourful thrush
That sings them out
of the arms of damnation......
Your beauty
The majesty found in the garden of Hades
bearing such an influence there
It is so powerful
That your face
Is sculpted in the dark rocks
vogue of perpetuated eternity
that nothing can stop
Such is the force of your comeliness
That even high-angels
Swoop down undetected
Just to gaze at your face
And demons dream of you
In tight embrace
The Arch-Priestess within you
Is acknowledged by all
You balance good and evil
On the fingertips
Of archetypal law
You are the other Light-Bringer
The herald of
Copernicanean fantasy
The hosts of hell
Kiss your backside
Arch-fiends pour
Asmodeaun oil over your shape
Demogorgon raises you
From the pit of slumber
Diabolists play a dirge for you
At the end of their lute
Dragons fire your figure
In the sunset of sky
Bracken witches
Craft projections of you when they scry……
White flowers wait to greet you
Your smile the only sweetness
Reflected in the souless depths
Nearby them they dread
You are the only sunshine
In a place that has forgotten light
You are the precious goatling
Of their forbidden pastures...
The colourful thrush
That sings them out
of the arms of damnation......
Your beauty
The majesty found in the garden of Hades
bearing such an influence there
It is so powerful
That your face
Is sculpted in the dark rocks
vogue of perpetuated eternity
that nothing can stop
Such is the force of your comeliness
That even high-angels
Swoop down undetected
Just to gaze at your face
And demons dream of you
In tight embrace
The Arch-Priestess within you
Is acknowledged by all
You balance good and evil
On the fingertips
Of archetypal law
You are the other Light-Bringer
The herald of
Copernicanean fantasy
The hosts of hell
Kiss your backside
Arch-fiends pour
Asmodeaun oil over your shape
Demogorgon raises you
From the pit of slumber
Diabolists play a dirge for you
At the end of their lute
Dragons fire your figure
In the sunset of sky
Bracken witches
Craft projections of you when they scry……
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