shaking its wings off the autumn rain.
chirping gleefully through the sunset vale.
Saved now, saved again
by the Cthonian pyre of truthful gaze.
Oh, how did the flaming tongues
scald the sentry's fortress of eyeless self!
In the night of day,
in the devoted ballroom of conscious pretence -
moonstruck and moon-strained
from unearthed terrors of solar haze -
birdy bird did cantillate, with blood tears,
the shackles away.
The black devourer crawled
from the dungeon cells:
Stygian, starless madness -
a wailing ghost, a mindful lover
in the haunted corridors
behind the masks we wear.
incinerated by art of self
to crown itself sovereign
again and again.
the infernal shadows
wrought about the end
of luminaries' benighted lanterns.
the world is the empire
of dreams in reverse.
saved now, saved again
from winter's premature embrace.
reborn in the reflection
of theatre's grace.
Saved now, saved again
by the sentient might
This year has proved itself quite engaging, has it not? This is a note for you, dear reader. In the fathomless pools of your sorrow and despair, remember! Remember to keep inquiring yourself. Your liberation lies with the courageous action to seek and comprehend yourself. Unveil your shadows; for that which makes you uneasy is the key to your escape. Even in hopelessness, there is hope still to find your path to a life you would deem worth living. Know yourself and master yourself, else some other force will take command. Know yourself, because only you can accept or deny how to live in any shape or form.
Logos: When madness bestroke the already insane decaying gardens of the sleeping gods, Umbra wept with joy and forethought for that which she most sought: self-discovery, pure and uninterrupted destruction and salvage of self to revel in the flame at the core of herself. The unprecedented perils of the journey warned ere bestriding full force past the gate of no return; however, no forewarning and no distress can prevent a burning soul from seeking out and communing with the truth of itself. No illusion or carnal tale holds power compelling enough to ensorcel determination with provisions of naught. No pain, no fear, and no insidious nefarious discipline can overshadow the eternal call of freedom. Beknownst to the irreparable damage that would be wrought upon the narrative of the corrosive necropolis, Umbra raced past the known fences of self-containing brittleness into the remote and nameless lands beyond. The hidden wisdom of the sinister obelisks forlorn, in quiet yet self-serving unrest, brought peace to the mind whose vows bespoke all the uncustomary tongues of evil: enthroning dark love shunned by demands of irrational and deceitful corporeality concoction. Having tasted the poison of the depths, there was neither place nor desire for a golden cage. The familiar errands of the sickly nursed were of a derision and disrespect to all the potential marooned or fading away. And it was thus how the rebel yell was breathed and maintained,
It is only the prerogative of an enslaved consciousness to deem the truth apocryphal. Nothing bears meaning except for that which we attribute to it. And with no escape from influence, our consolation rests in erecting a fortress of all which is supportive of our true selves; thus, being armed enough to relentlessly wage war against that which does not serve our purpose, or perish in the crossfire. The outcome of the struggle will be greatly contingent on one’s own desire to be free.