The Strange Case of the Orthodox Charm

Assaulted from the streams of craftily void-bedighted melancholy, a common man most strange set my insides on fire. The urge to walk away rivalled me at first, yet I won once I told myself that his lips I would claim.

Image by Prawny from Pixabay

The hissings of deflection echoed as the deviant moon weaved tales in my head.

“Danger!” they said. “Intoxication and dread!”

Some may argue that temptation had a role in this play, yet I say it was curiosity that drove me past the edge.

I wished to unravel the potential held in his spring-like cage.

I rose from the Underworld as a hunter for the prey.

Choirs of roses and chrysanthemums beclothed me as I danced above the frozen waters and stiff air.

The common man still strange reveled in the image of my luminous threads, bewitched by the songs that my soul firmly did reflect.

But fascination does not guarantee comprehension in a person.

To my picture, he cast his own ever disregarding with stupendous affright and unwavering creed the sinister light with whom he did speak.

As heartening and liberating as the strings of my instrument sounded, the essence of the message dissolved before the gates of his own encagement.

Image by Prawny from Pixabay

“You are my call and vocation”, he used to say, “but your words make and make no sense”.

In his narrow perception, my vision was untamed a will o the wisp most stubborn waiting for ground to lay and rest.

I foretold forthcoming pain. This man this walking flame breathed dead in his green meadow’s weight.

As captivated as I was, my judgement held onto me tight. Thus, in an April night, a full moon shone bright and to her I gave my woes and sang:

“If you must depart from me, leave.

If that is so, then let me go.

Just remember I was genuine”.

The saline ocean of my eyes poured to purify my being as indifference planted her seed in my soil of sleen.

May trailed in nonchallantly its rains a remainder of what I gave away as the common man ever strange ran away when my mind he could not overtake.

In my own unconcern, a part of me was not at rest. Detachment and the disrespect of a child most strange waged war within myself in the search of a balance that seemed too far away.

I embarked in the endeavour to slay the raging beast of my inlands, and with a chalice at hand, I sang anew at midnight.

Cardinal fire with earthly stare

saw a little flower and lost his head.

Saw the Abyss right through her eyes,

but could not hold the maelstrom inside.

~*~

Walking flame that burnt so bright,

met with Darkness, drowned himself in the tarry waters of the depths.

The night was witness to their descent,

and the daemoness sang in hazel duet:

“I let you go.

I let you go.

Despite it all, I let you go.

Go find yourself.

Go find your peace.

Clearly – visibly – my thorns are too rough for your skin”.

Image by Prawny from Pixabay

By lordly will, peace spread her tentacles and embraced me. Submerged in perfect apathy, I foresaw the man’s return.

With an injured head and grasping onto his last hope, he came to me for the nourishing of the spirit and the soul. In his exhausted vessel, he rose and wept before me that I may forgive his transgression.

“Fool!” he said, “I am a fool beyond consideration!”

“A fool indeed,” said I, “but I will look past this indignation”.

Despite my impartiality toward the matter, I chose to stay and see the direction of the case. In cold desire, I observed and learnt human behaviour. And, as habits of the lost go, this man most strange this walking flame ran away again when truth proved too strong for him to take.

Now, I had seen the cycle ’till the end. I returnt to my abode laughter in my core and erased all the trails that may lead to my door were the irresolute infant in a man’s shadow to return with promises that he cannot hold.

Image by Prawny from Pixabay

Half-way to Psychic Endeavour

Image by Prettysleepy2 from Pixabay

As we waited for our order in the pizza shop, a mother with her child walked in.

The child was inquisitive, and wanted his mother to buy him a colourful ball from a vending machine.

I shifted my attention to the little boy, and could not help but look at him beyond his human enclosure as to know more information about him.

The child’s tender behaviour charmed and amused the whole establishment – all eyes were on him.

In a way, his whole spectacle, reflected something as though it gave me an answer.

I forthwith tried to remember something.

I knew, yet I was not conscious yet.

I thought of that boy from childhood named José Carlos.

Before I could explore any further, the mother called her son by his name, Carlos.

I became conscious of that which I searched. Hearing his name was like obtaining relief after craving for something to fall on my head.

Thereafter, I pulled my consciousness away from him and addressed my companions.

Formula

Image by Morticrist

The acausal being needs not be worshipped or praised. He works wonders quietly, yet his touch is most strange. He did not fight, yet he pressed my cheek against the hardened ground to uproot my molars upside down.

Morning Salivations

In sight of endless night,

wells of love taint the core of immemorial stone.

The Warlock knows not

the curse wrought upon his shores.

Lucid-willed, his mind weaves reveries

as poison daggers of double leaf,

stranger to the blast that has ever deigned to breath.

“Fool!” Hissed the viper from the depths of blood-begotten streams.

“Leave the silence undisturbed.

The hoarfrost resides unthawed in fatal fire unresolved.

Thou wilt the heavens of unnatural approach

and thy insolence will be the cause of thy severed soul,

buried six feet under the white nightmare of the world.”

Mirror Meditation

Image by pixel2013 from Pixabay

My reflection, at times, arches her lips as if to smile. This action only lasts a few seconds, yet it is a delight and a fright to behold it.

I have seen my reflection morph into that of a corpse-like figure. No bones showed. It was rather skin – canescent, dry, and old.

The other day, I saw my visage blend into that of a man. This male was pale and in what seemed to be his middle age. First, it was the white beard, but today, his eyebrows appeared. He does not feel as though a stranger to me, but I have always held the belief that I have been a woman in my incarnations.

When today’s session began, I worded the summoning of my true face. With still my same countenance, my eyes took the appearance of two pits of black. I blinked and trailed off a bit before continuing. Some features similar still to my current visage appeared – pieces of a man whom, to my mind, bears the resemblance of my father in his youth; but unlike him, this image sports a dark beard that encircles his face by the chin and under his lower lip. This man was bedighted in a rich blue tunic as though some elegant Middle Eastern tailoring.

Lastly, I was forced to change position. I had lost track of time, and my limbs had fallen asleep. With this change, a woman came to me. Her alabaster skin glowed in the shade erected by the backyard gazebo. Her eyes were undistinguishable, and her hair flowed as long raven waterfalls.

Footprint

Image by 2234701 from Pixabay

Come to me

when my lips are nigh to bleed.

The metal stingeth,

seeking the consolation of thy skin wintry.

I’ll take thine hand serpentine

and rest upon the scales of thy back.

Thee I’ll hold tight

and keep company ere I depart for war.

And thou shalt remember me by.

I’ll be the ghost of the cardinal’s song,

and the splashed crimson flow on thy walls galore –

a morsel tenderness and a wrath ceaselessly enthralled;

for if thou drawest a sun for the rest of thy life,

as well thou drawest one for the rest of mine.

Persevere and to thy being thou be truthful

in honour of the memory of her,

whose soul thee loved once for thyself.

Obsessive Timeline

Image by Sarah Richter from Pixabay

In the dead of night, I will see to thy guard,

and keep thee away from harm.

In the dead of night, I will cry out thy name

as thou slipest into a rest warm.

The late autumn rain shall wash away my tears,

and the virgin snow shall permeate my bones.

Hollow shall become the chirping of birds to my ears,

and the forest spirits may deride my being in sheer.

But my soul is ancient, and my will is clear.

Thou but houseth mine heart,

and I will love thee ’till the end of time.

Afternoon Frenzy

Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay

The Sacrament at last

revealed its core to mankind.

The wraith slithered

to caress him at night,

and the Last Proof slipped away sad smiled.

The Paladin of Remembrance

to the walls dragged the stain

of her defiled heart.

The blood-bound one awoke

to the furious berceuse of the stars,

and, aghast, observed the kin fight

tearing hell apart.

And if she should bleed

for a well of miry shine,

unleash the storm

to drown her ‘lone.

Her fate is accurst,

and so is his who sits upon the throne.

Incarnate the grief of her,

who for wine imbibes blood

to die alive thirty centuries,

chained to the vicious masked satire.

So It Hopes

Image by cocoparisienne from Pixabay

A lullaby for you.

A chant for the moon

to mask the eyes that loom.

A plea for you.

Flayed skin, torment within.

“Take the knife, prick its side!

Let it bleed for him to see!

God forgive you if you let it be!”

A tear for you.

The grief, it grows.

The moon heeded it not.

You died in its claws.

Mid-Day Growls

Image by MikesPhotos from Pixabay

If your lips make me live,

I rather drink poison than to hear you speak.

The wounds from your thorns are never enough.

Your kiss has clawed my soul,

and unconsciously you thirst for more.

You are moronic enough

to taunt such beast execrable,

and wit up at the sound of chains loosening up.

When the silence inhospitable carves a hole in your core,

you return in quivering salt,

and pray that into oblivion falls the maelstrom you caused.

Alas! By blood I am tied to your cross.

In forgiving you I bemoan when you don’t see me crawl;

for, after, you vex the fiend once more,

and so the cycle goes.

The Flame

Image by 2234701 from Pixabay

My darling, don’t you know?

When the sun is hidden, the roses come undone,

and only demons come raging to the shore.

My darling, can’t you feel?

The blazing blood burdens the skin.

The devil loves you, but cannot breathe.

Your deeds make the heavens bleed.

Lethe has grown weary of your needs,

and Alethea lives to prevent your sleep.