A Brazen Howl

Solomon the King sang
A song of Love
And in the demons came.

Band most fierce
the brassy and the bold)

Three score and twelve
Plunging – seething
Mirrored by clockwork angels

The names of Adonai
Letters, numbers
Inky chains of Alef-Bet.

I will not sing a song of Love
But neither will I hate
No more charms to mutter – no more talismans to make.

No dusty words
Just barbarous tongues
In a language like rain – to make the desert bloom.

And though the stars be but thistles
And the Sky be ever Dark
With gleaming eye and wicked heart

The vessels I\’ll smash –
Grind to dust beneath my wheels
Strong in cunning, wise in art.

-\”Little brother, you have meddled -\”
-\”Meddled sir? Not how. Not who. Not me!\”
-\”Brother mine, this much be true –
For tis they, that have meddled, and meddled with you!\”

No scripts of Prophets or of Scribes
Shall balance the scales – they fall from eyes
Now lit from within by baleful gaze.

A pitiless Sphinx from Ancient Days
In perfum\’d evenings and purple bed
In terroriz\’d awe and Mystic dread

In smoke and mirror – hard and black
In sex-slick slidings – spit and wood
In shadowed bowers – old bones and blood,

In ice and rime – no human heat
In mead\’s sweet running
The Highest Seat

In Gothick laughter we abide
On misty moor –
In blackest forests and darkened meres

Beyond their Evil and and their Good
I\’ll raise my fist
This twisted frame set to shiver, and to shake

My voice to raise
What\’s mine I\’ll take
And what is not – that I\’ll make!

So set thee all
Your flesh to burn
Desire to run

For \’pon Time\’s Wheel
They\’ve all passed by
Countless times, thus done before

Quoth the black birds,
Beneath their rainbow wings.

And in the dusty ash I\’ll draw my signs
My thundered runes
For the eyes of the blind

From those empty sockets
Shall I drink
The frozen gaze that never blinks.

The Hidden One
Who moves the storms
And gives the poet breath

Grins amidst the fields of skulls
Surtur\’s fires long since guttered
In the cold

And all about
Lie shattered worlds
The broken spheres,

Faint echoes
Voiceless howls
Issuing forth from half-forgotten gate

No more \’pathy
No more hate
No more Alpha,

No more Beta
Wyrdly Wordless
Lack of Fate.

In the end,
The crippled stand erect
Laughing take you by the hand

A Midnight Sun
Rises in Hyperborea –
And Saturn welcomes his children home refined.