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SATOR AREPO TENET OPERA

SATOR AREPO TENET OPERA
The Magic Square

Saturday, 20 November 2010

Crimsom

My First Poem Written in 1985 - This Body was 15.
Crimson

A Poem and Prose of Anything the Evil of Possession
Possessions own Tools Possessors are,
Abominations place is where fools are.

Lords of Power, Lords of Might.
Time has come to begin thy final fight,
And in this cause you are needed to sever ever the darkening haste.

Crimson Horsemen to pass you by,
Crimson as the blood lit sky,
Crimson as the freshest red rose,
Crimson as life’s own blood.
Over the plains on horseback gallop,
Over the hills under phantoms shadows,
Down a glade amongst the farmers furrows,
Colliding together pastels on a palette of sliding plates,
Atop the shattered corpses in they byre,
Fire and Flame leap from the farmyard barn after a drunken yarn.

Crimson Wolves eyes, heard howling in the twilight,
Crimson throats raw with tone,
Crimson stained the ozone layer,
Crimson layer of mankind the bloody slayer.

Drawn and halted overseeing the towers and wastes a atop now a mountain plateau where morbid shadows are spent in paranoiac ecstasy.

Lava thrust and earth trembles, the created Satan a hand only is out grasping for more twisted souls he took
And still the wolves once grey matted redder more blood they taste,
Once where buffalo grazed now is nothing but stained carrion hates.

Crimson twisted over,
Crimson nails, clawing, deeper,
Crimson as that vampire dream,
Crimson torn and forlorn hopes they scream.

No battlements need they crumble, down the valley still a rumble.

Broadswords have drawn another usurping blow and decapitations head tumble, the reaping are rich this night.

Nothing is now anything to me and more. In this dance, twisting turning lyric and there a flash of silver orb, deaths own head.
With my sheath I fumble trying from my charger I am humbled. I have changed, On I have moved into another dimension.

Crimson Sails of Junk boats from the land of the setting sun all torn with tempests whipped,
Crimson Rage and Lot the fools now starting to realise through dreams they are possessions tools.

Crimson life and death,
Crimson paths where even the saints and martyrs would not dare to cross.

Holding on tightly now to all that I have, struggling to hold my mind in place,
For believe me or not, if I let go it is surely lost.
To a merciless spirit freedom flows and it would go to a layer of darkness so foul.

There night is a forever and always to fall.
That and this the midnight hour within a darkened tower the souls of the dead collect as one begging to rest, theirs is the aid sought to stop pestilence and corruptions spawn.

And there to hear a hint at last of heavenly grace empowered my spiritual sword will find its place.
Crimson shelled in armor I ask the masters if they can see my angels fly.

Crimson in the shining ones shared blood and the mistress as well; I to all linked.
This does not stop the need when required to see my blade cold and wet with his servants twine!
Crimson do you now alive redeemer recall deaths halls?
Crimson clothed we walked its places rooms and portals!
Mystically sealed portals opened only with a sacrificial tear, and you a master’s son led me safely beyond eternities place.
For as the immoral mortal that I am, not the lords just another one, in us all kings blood from lovers loins.
You then deserted us and left us to die but now my friend I am back and quite alive in fact rather well.

Laughter rings in my ears, I listen to the smaller children’s songs they play carefree in flowery rings.
Like theirs an eternal wisdom is spread like love over angels wings.
“Try Harder”, I call to them for heaven will have no limits when the fires are dowsed.

They dance with fairy free and eldritch music. The Lords nod gnosis and knowing every living organism has a place with my love and hate is slowly extinguished.

Crimson Horsemen to pass you by,
Crimson as the blood lit sky,
Crimson as the freshest red rose,
Crimson as life’s own blood.
Over the plains on horseback gallop,
Over the hills under phantoms shadows,
Down a glade amongst the farmers furrows,
Colliding together pastels on a palette of sliding plates,
Atop the shattered corpses in they byre,
Fire and Flame leap from the farmyard barn after a drunken yarn.

And still you wonder what this Crimson was? It is whatever I wish it to be.
It is life, it is blood and fallen bright Lucifer or the master called God above.
For now the next time you turn to see the rain fall from the sky do not damn a weather vane’s prediction of the Gods or Demons that abound.

It may be one it may be all, however that will not stop the rainfall.

Lords of Power, Lords of Might.
Time has come to begin thy final fight,
And in this cause you are needed to sever ever the darkening haste.

Possessions own Tools Possessors are,
Abominations place is where fools are.

© Jonathan MacLean-Lambie 1985 & 2008




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Location:My Astral Plane

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