deepundergroundpoetry.com

Thy Will Shall Be Done (The Covenant)

For your arrogance, Damballa and your spiritual treason, your malice, your racial contempt, your hate, YOU and your regrets were tossed off the Mothership � � �
Then to label yourself in this dimension as the demoness Maman Brigitte who scowls the night killing babies, including the divine spiritual killing of your own � � �
Bedazzling men and women with false spiritual ideology in hopes their minds are confused, too far gone � � �
And you want the world to worship a snakehead you have placed upon your throne � � �
The Lilith of the night, a Jinn, an Earth slithering misfit � � �
Dragon of lore told in dark books of fourscore � � �
Not in the eyes of Heaven to be ever received as an ascending gift � �
And I have never seen my Heavenly father upon a demoness spit � � �
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My covenant, until the voices harken my tongue like a flaming spear � � � � �
As movement stirs like a quiet wind of night when it is here � � � �
To the moon phases by the succor of our sacred ritual � � � � � �
Let thy will cast darkened reign in the eyes of contempt � � � � �
Whom in my blood spill I shall not want � � � � �

United voices in my ear as I purge my incantations of ancient passage � � � � � � � �
Unto my blood I commence unto the resting place of my accusers � � � � �
Yeah, thou this Angel shall refuse to walk through the shadows of dark magic � � � � �
The arrow of my tongue speaks into the death of the vulture�s ears � � � � �
Within our blood we shall never fear � � � � �
For the Haitian priestesses of that old soul, we stand unto the dark forces � � � � �
United we stir, divided in the lamination of Hades choices � � � � �
As time is forgotten by the doing of our hands � � � � �
May the serpent�s head be bitten by one�s own ouroboros false sense of immoral security where she lays or stands � � � � �
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In the compass for which our dying breath we blow smoke in the trifle of your mishaps � � � � �
Unto the house of your cards shall fall � � � � �
Vaticination upon the threshold of skin, jagged in the appearance for the universal to discern the ugliness of one�s persona � � � � �
By the evil deeds you do, the wickedness, the canard of the tongue shall be smite � � � � � � �
For the nature winds upon this circle to defend against the forces upon me � � � � �
As our spirits weave in the midst of our ferment � � � � �

May the source of our blood become the foul taste in the swallowing of thy mouth � � � � �
In the fiery torment of your tears � � � � �
Not to be escaped by man or four legged beasts � � � � �
A hushness speaks unto that mulatta mystique surrender infinity through West African prophecy of our Creole blood line � � � � �
No rest in the magic ordained by the phrases of Luna� time
Confessed by the mouth in its reflective mirror, broken, shattered in the sublime