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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      
        
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          
          
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



Written by SweetKittyCat5
Published
Author's Note
Third Quarter Moon: Half of the moon is visible from Earth.

Based Off My Ancestral Haitian Incantation circa 1806

SKC
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