Astral Arcadia 🖤

Smoke and mirrors unbalance the truth of a detrimental soul            
Cleansing of the intellect is the rebirth as the Sun is to the Rose            
What fables can blind mankind speak            
When questioning the presence of his or her purpose, yet dead minded to give hope in the deliverance of a divine speech            
Trying to ignite the spark of conceivable notions when a faulty heart is leaking and not at peace            
Wicked eyes cannot exalt beyond Mt. Zion peaks            
Where is your Holy Oil Lucifer for the lost wandering sheep            
Can you give universal rest for the mental weariness and spiritually weak            
The promise to the afterlife in the chastisement of the meek            
            
Lineage of Gods do not twist the time of His creation            
Man, woman, child the sacred unity is found in the agility of benediction to the constellations            
Lessening the mind when the truth is in plain view            
Death and destruction seem to be the passage you seek to mentally abuse, physically misuse            
          
Propaganda floating on the crest of life in droves of waves            
Within the Grand Canyon the history of my lineage is scrawled on the walls of those caves            
The echoing cries are hollowing on the wind            
Upon the treetops that swayed, unto the neck broken, upon the bend            
Signs of the times to christen unto a new origin            
          
To pardon the democracy of Heaven and Hell, as blood still seeps in burial ground              
Forebode and ancestry speaks shh... you can hear the bemoans if you do not make a sound              
Native land, footsteps branded on the soil by the Moorish man              
You give the world a book of fables, with incest, murder, fornication, and adultery, and you ask to hold my hand              
When the Constitution of our forefathers refuse to acknowledge blood still seeps from the vast land                      
            
Diabolic echoes you may whisper on the calling of the wind    
I am upon my glory, my mission is to see that hopeless souls, unto those Pearly Gates still get in    
No invitations offered to sink any aura in hellish dark condolences of their spirit to be built upon hollow sticks, and casted stones              
Genocide, pilgrimage, ethnic cleaning the stars, the Sun, or the Most High, can never atone            
Stay focused you are your own shining star        
It makes you thinketh, therefore you are        
     
Never lose your sense of direction, your pilgrimage in the eyes of a Godless race      
Faith have been misplaced      
Looking into Hell to dine on depravity’s wicked words          
I am the Dove who seeks new land for a Moorish King’s intellect to unfurl      
When chaos enters your frame of mind, fate cannot be measured, destiny will not be met at best    
            
The Revelations of whips and chains are clamoring from the mountaintop              
Aren’t we all waiting for the great tribulations, as eyes look up for glory, knees to the terrain we will drop              
Natural disasters upon the shores the beginning of trepidation              
My frontier is sky miles in the remnants of fallen tears to offer some form of hope, in the words of salvation    
         
Before the destruction of man, when Yeshua walked in unity dark feet casted and brass            
The pilgrimage of my Eastern Star has come, moons have passed            
And you question the validity of my faith, which will always outlast            
I cannot teach the heart what should be there by the resurrected nature of spiritual designs            
Mystical incantations to reach the sublime            
          
The pyre of laminates will never be found in the validation, or could you ever overstand my mission of deliverance from within the delusion of time            
You may try, but the Holy Oil, gifted from the Holy Grail is the bone marrow of my sublimes            
Words of yesterday, I do not exist            
A celestial sacred version that has traveled to the seconds, upon moments of a soft reminisce            
Light your Olibanum, inhale, exhale, close your eyes, and say an Arabic prayer            
Open the portal of your mind beyond the dark parchments of the Freemasons, the Illuminati and the earthly Naysayers            
          
Take off thy shoes, for your judgment is upon Holy Ground            
I console upon my depth, as I sit in, “Halls of Amenti”, truth found in its peace, my only divine harkening sound            
The stigmata from my hands to give            
My feet to traveling with wisdoms and knowledge from His blood, I am the sanctification for you to choose how you to live          
Piercing you with my truth with the finality      
Let the blood and water flow, as the Roman Lance of Longinus into the Begotten Son, had did      
          
To the hearts that are heavy            
Their minds inclined in bitterness, that is the dam that breaks civilizations' levies            
Let the reign cometh in the mourning where eyes shall look up of its ascending glory            
I am who I am            
A timeless spirit in the vessel, I stand to give reprisal to child, woman, and man of the deep and of the wild            
Cognitive awareness by divine perceptions as an Indigo Child            
The flowers of the winds, the Lotus flower, a beautiful adoration as it thrives upon its throne within the sanctuary of a muddy waterbed in its darkest hour            
          
You may kneel unto self or the Dark Thief of weaken souls    
I have seen, heard the other side's mumbo jumbo, and once those voices get into the mind, not even the Ankh can religiously console    
     
Your heart, and your bone marrow is your sense of peace      
In the absence of wisdom and knowledge your mind will refuse to reach            
My existence ordained to the powers that be    
Not found in an unbalanced chemical equation    
Unlearned in the words of its own mental depravation      
What good is the tongue, if it cannot speak the truth    
It is best to keep mouths closed than found to be the jester in thy own ruse    
You may bathe your skin in blood and sin    
What person want their mind controlled by a bed of sickness, begging for faith, yet, a condemned vessel already promised to die a satanic death and then offer their soul only to then wallow in internal heat    
     
I am from the highest oracle that time whereas, mortals must decipher in the state of negativity’s reprieve            
I bear my invocations in the name of my Divine Creator, and I humbly bow to the incantations professed by the spiritual offerings consecrated by Him            
The shield in the feast of His honor, in my anointment to Earthy Canis, and the castaways demonic Jinn’s        
     
     
 Assalamu Alaikum