Reveries of Heresy

When the autumn moon blooms under a witchy heathen rune,  & dreams seep into reality, The stratosphere of spectres open a portal into Earth ,  ripping the aether asunder. As the barriers between   the nine realms wear thin, & the spirits start slipping under,  Lovers who once swore  “Till death do us part”  elope once more into the yonder. My lady appeared  as a lucid apparition  veiled in a seraphic, gossamer gown; A statuesque vision, as magnificent as mountains, with eyes of a  bloodthirsty hound.  With trembling hands, she floated towards me, her serpentine silk  caressing the floor; The wooden boards creaked   beneath her bony feet  as she whispered an ancient, Delphic lore.  Her name was Lucifera,  lovely & lithesome, as fair & white as sin; In the name of Lilith she possessed my body, & dug her claws into my skin.  Lady Lucifera recited a primordial chant, serenading me sweetly...

Part I To be alive is to be  a speck of dust encapsulating the  entire universe  all at once; infinitely alive   within a boundless prison, freely confined in the vastness  of  existence.   To be human is to contain  a Colosseum of  consciousness within a tiny, gelatinous repository, composed of more synapses  than the stars which swirl & eddy  across the Milky Way galaxy.  To be alive is to embody order emerging from chaos;  a constellation of atoms  formed from explosions of energy,  yet bounded in fatality  to the law of entropy.  To be human is to be  a refined barbarian,  a tamed beast  condemned to freedom; destined for freewill with volatile volition, vacillating violently between  predetermined decisions. To be alive is to be  a beautiful wreckage,   wretched  &  wrathful;   a magnum opus  of ugliness screaming in silence, an unyielding ...

The wound of  rejection  runs deep: It permeates  every molecule,  Reverberating through  every fibre, every pore, every sinew.  Surely it has lodged  something sinister  Deep within her corpse: Perhaps a  beldam’s  ancient curse Or a maggot-infested core.  Perhaps a hex  bewitches  the Leviathan to her, Like the waves  which slam  against the shore, & the siren who  lures lecherous men  into the abyssopelagic floor .  She attempts to purge  the vileness within By conjuring up  fantasies of God— Slicing her belly  & eviscerating her entrails, Till her vessel  gushes burgundy,  raw.  In these sybilline visions, She is finally pure; The gall in her humours have been drawn out  Through holy torture,  in a sacrament  of Abrahamic lore. These infernal reveries  cast a spell of  peaceful sleep - For in these  Sanguinary dreams  She ...