Thursday, 30 November 2017

Stitches of History - A Living Temple

If we could just get the kids out of the classroom. Much too beautiful a world for these antiquated mausoleums where the hunger for self knowledge goes to die with a sigh on the wind and a tremble in the earth.

Rayn Gryphon, Satanic Witch

A Fracture in the Human Mind, a Torture, an Assault
Upon the elements and letters of the senses reeled
And barely reached, so long had Man's exceeded the Occult
Of native language the advantage of that language peeled
From every stitch of history that infamy restored
Upon the death of every breath of restoration tugged
Upon the smile burning from behind the eyes of wars
Upon the Hell and Heaven intersections nature and the blood
Was spilled where nature once had spilled the nectar of the stars
On these unfolding elements and letters of the growth
Whole were the Mind of Man his native place his sacred heart's
Own Temple of the flesh and blood that every child knows
Who knows its loss to every god of his destruction smiled
From behind these masques of peace and trust our native tongues reviled.

Curls of smoke out and beyond the mists and mountain peaks
The Goddess of the Moon and Sun would hear the voice of Man
And gather up inside the belly that consumeth these
Mere days of ours into the rays that bathe our Motherland
With words like these as heard as these and harmonies of bone
And blood the impulse every flood of life into our step
And every sphere of nature dear as children walking home
From miles upon miles of their thought and body whet
By pressures all the measures of the trees and stars and clouds
Contractions winds and waters currents overlapping with
Each other like a Mother to a Child for whom sounds
The kind of music when and where a man and woman kiss
So summon somewhere deeper than the earth, beyond the sky,
The Hell and Heaven of their flesh and blood communication thine.

Psalms of Love

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