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The Molting Spirit

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  • The Molting Spirit

    In the greatest darkness my molting spirit soars
    As if it were the lone survivor of far more devastating wars
    Than the eerie host of mystifying battles which I recently endured
    Where deceptive entities my psychic services secured,
    For I was made to always battle with the universe’s best
    And in my fevered writings have repeatedly professed
    That enigmatic planes surround this secular dimension
    Where the material alone receives our strict attention
    As we stumble through the strange environs of this horrifying maze
    In a laughable variety of idiotic ways
    All of which reveal how we unto our higher selves have grossly lied
    By allowing apathy to be our bitter spirit’s arbitrary guide
    Through the pallid corridors of yet another devastating night
    Where a golden, harvest moon provides the only spectral light,
    Which falls upon the tilted, granite stones of long neglected graves
    Over which those tattered, russet leaves will sometimes flow in uncollected waves,
    And I know that I have witnessed a disturbing multitude of curious events
    But I have never been dismayed at how the vengeful architect invents
    A thousand cruel ordeals to crush my battered heart
    That in its secret emptiness was wounded from the start,
    For in restless dreams have I with true antipathy conceded
    That a realistic human sacrifice is what I always needed
    Just to fuel the auric beauty of that ghostly fire
    Whose lonesome dimming is how the hateful gods conspire
    Against anyone who openly rejects their dull, prosaic tracts
    Whose arrogant duplicities masquerade as weird, celestial facts,
    Yet when the spinning arms of divergent galaxies collide
    And in their chaotic meeting free the molten power locked inside
    The swirling depths of dark, atomic spheres
    Whose imminent explosion is the peculiar source of all our paralyzing fears,
    I will travel through the grim detritus of wasted, burnt-out zones
    And lay my weakened flesh upon the empty seat of silver thrones,
    For I have always known there is a frightful specter looming
    Over this murdered paradise which we are rapidly consuming
    With the swift, voracious hunger of emaciated swine
    Who in their greedy ignorance assume that everything will be just fine
    If we continue to receive our greasy swill
    Or the putrid offal that our vicious keepers spill
    Through the rusted, yellow bars of our squalid little cages
    Where we spend our fleeting time trapped in lustful, swinish rages,
    For many of these grunting creatures cheerfully accept the asinine position
    That they must sacrifice their sovereign will to the fiendish mandates of tradition
    And crawl upon the vulgar ground in abject shame
    Or else be thrown into the swirling core of that all consuming flame,
    And this exquisite truth I speak is truth enough
    For I have known the smooth as well as rough
    And once took lasting solace in dead man’s mighty arms
    For he gently wooed me with his queer, enchanting charms
    Which prattling legions claim to be unfathomably kind
    But were always somewhat wicked to my maladjusted mind,
    For I have seen a frantic mother shield her bleeding child
    While over them their unseen killer smiled
    As he with primal malice their draining measure took
    And at the silent terror of his writhing victims would not for a second look,
    For he is unaware that I control this cryptic simulation
    Through the introspective rites of alchemical mutation
    And I will not allow such celebrated miscreants to boldly thrive
    Or their spiteful offspring to this verbal holocaust survive,
    Yet I am often led by my growing curiosity
    To explore the daunting realm of absolute atrocity
    Which is where God himself must passionately dwell
    When from the cosmic dome he like Satan fell
    And crashed into the blackened pools of time’s abyss
    Where I the poisoned lips of demons kiss
    As I shed the scaly frailty of my liar’s molting skin
    Whose binding layers have only now begun to thin
    So that I may joyfully commence the righteous life that sinner’s lead
    When from the tangled chains of crippling guilt are they completely freed.

    And my earthly fate is a vague, uncertain thing
    That a tired judge will inevitably decide,
    A fading memory to which I madly cling
    Though to do so is a glaring sign of ingrained pride,
    For the awkward shape of this familiar incarnation
    Reminds me of a life that I have worn before,
    One whose dated story needs no opulent narration
    From an infamous purveyor of esoteric lore,
    And I have watched my moulting spirit hover
    Above the tainted bed in which my aching body dies
    And felt as if I glimpsed a former lover
    Who had donned some hideous disguise,
    Whose grimy lineaments were creased with bands of sorrow
    Or else the dismal furrows of a deep despair
    For when men are made to live but for tomorrow
    It is a haunted void into which they always stare,
    And I have peered into the starlit gloom
    Where various realities converge
    And glimpsed my own impending doom
    As the pulse of all existence starts to surge,
    And we cannot reach our sacred journey’s end
    Until I have seen the amber glinting that fabled northern light
    For I still have many dreadful circles to transcend
    If I am destined to regain my arcane prophet’s second sight,
    And my bloated ego now is screaming
    That its careful work has been intentionally maligned
    By the unconscious part of me that’s always dreaming
    About leaving all these petty miseries behind,
    For there is no lasting worth in worldly treasure
    Or the halfwit’s love of sycophantic praise
    But only in those things for which there is no measure
    Whose singular rewards fulfill my finite days,
    And now I hear that failed avenger’s hollow voice
    Echoing down the unlit hallways of the unrelenting past
    As it presents me with a simple choice
    About the feeble vessel into which my visionary soul was lately cast,
    And now I see that life is just a marvelous procession
    That will not be obstructed by the slow decay of years
    And this verse is just an elegant confession
    That I am proud to say will end in blissful tears.

  • #2
    You Snapped ! 👌👌👌❤

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