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21 February 2010

The ancient wanderers explored
The darkness and its depths, light-abhorred
Subterranean deeps of the soul;
With ancient drums and drugs the bowl
Of black oak-water was passed,
Loosing the senses to the shadows of the past.
Darkness ascending to the realms of Men,
Burning, destroying, consuming from within;
All roads through Broceliande lead
To the dark antipodean wastes, where bleeds
The black bile of the Headless Emporer’s wastes,
And inhuman shapes shift and sway with deplorable tastes.
Without measure, without time,
All thoughts forever in rhyme–
Images set free from Verse…
The Acts in Contention spread all over the Earth;
Actions of the Headless Emperor, walking ever-backwards,
Rolling and boiling in all passions, downwards
It spirals in flames of madness, mountainous and cruel–
The Pit yawns, the Abyss smiles, and all such explorers are Doom’s tools
And Fate’s curious fools.

2 Comments leave one →
  1. 21 February 2010 20:27

    And exploring, too, those who sought the light
    turning from shadow and rejecting night’s
    luminous tendrils of false dawn
    dangling over chasms of alluring song;
    with wisdom’s mirror viewing the past
    and sword of truth cutting at last
    the gorgon’s head of hissing lies;
    drinking life with refreshed sighs.

  2. 23 February 2010 15:31

    Grace is given to the humble,
    But resisted are the proud
    And the rich sent empty away;
    What then is left to say
    Of a man crawling, dragonkin,
    Upon a bed of hoarded gold
    (Treasures are pleasures, after all)
    Struggling with an ancient sin
    But despising the cure;
    So what if he no longer casts dark spells
    Or soothsays in oak-water or with brass bells–
    If, in the end, he just makes a substitution
    For one more, useless, hopeless delusion.

    Pride puffs up and lust depletes
    But vainglory causes the most defeats.

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