Sunday, June 19, 2016

The Charnel Vaults

((A Long-line Eldritch Narrative Poem) (poetic prose))

Should the corpse speak to the charnel heap, what would the corpse say?
Perhaps, “All that man is, is of but dust and water, and he thinks he’s a big deal?”
Or perchance, “In the end, man is thus, evaporable! And that is that!”
What would the catacombs say to all this?
“Down here it is just cold, drafty with damp walls, with deposits that are rotting, decaying, giving off dead air, and foul smells?”
Who’s to say, so I speak for them?
I think they might surmise, “All the wisdom of mankind can be put into one head, why so many? We need more room!”
. . .

Maybe a statement-question might arise: man is but a laden camel that snuck out of the deep dark Edenic vales long ago!
And since all he has done is go with the flow, or the flocks of geese, what more can God expect!
And then there are those who seek the irretainable plunder and booty, beyond redemption. What does God think?

Alas, man, if he has not walled himself into the likes of the ‘Gardens of Babylon and their diabolical ways, akin to Sodom and Gomorra and their in discretional ways’ what then, has he done?
And what he has done is for the most part on behalf of the crimson demons, given them the rights to devour him, when his time comes!

Demons, like ghouls and vultures they search and thirst for captives, knowing the mysteries of man’s desires and nature: be it, primeval silence, or clamor and glory or a scare-imaginable romance!

They want to bring mankind to Hell’s un-chartable extreme.
To demonstrate horror with their multitudinous count in horned heads, and devil like tails
To place them in their funeral vaults never to return.
Instilling coeval in generations to come, into the yet to be born souls, by proxy.
While the prime taskmaster, is still alive: thus, instill vertigo madness, and delirium.

From the mud-brick towers of perdition, they curse, and have long yawned for man to be part of their misery.

In Eden’s ebon corners, came desolation, troublous horror to the shores of all mankind in those latter days, after Adam and Eve were tossed out; Today, God’s tribulation, and trials by faith are hanging on a hinge, with a thin thread, as thin as a spiders silk like strand.

All this humanity was originated way back when, and that when is now coming to an end, perhaps we will be the least existed species the earth as ever known.

I doubt man will survive this coming generation; his extinction is around the corner.
. . .

In the worm gardens of porphyry, holds all the king’s, false clergy, ex-presidents, governors, mayors, monarchs, tyrants of industry, of old, and new.
All in enchained, in an enormous spider caged like cell, in the deep intestines of earth’s putrefying cold—

Now so old is this enormous room, so encrusted with an overabundance of white worms, they are woven into coats, and garments to keep the tyrants warm.

Over the enormous room, paces the Hydra-headed Demon, the keeper.
With a venomous love for his special guests by virtue of his pleasures measured in tortures.
Such as torturing with Cacophonic, jarring sounds.
Sounds of evil Dom that chills the marrow in the bones, and clogs the blood, chokes the heart, and vibrates one’s tissue.
He has his imps, constantly beating on the tabor drums, with the menacing music of the fifer, twisting ones prune wrinkled skin, to burst level.
He drops vampire bat oil on their heads from above, and lights them on fire.
He places a wrangling python around each and every ones ribs and breasts, and orders the python to curl.

It’s just simply his entertainment.
. . .

And so we, you and I, we’re sent out of darkness into a stirring world of air and twilight—
Sent forth by our elder’s eons ago, through fathomless births and rebirths, out of sullen blackness rippled and warped space and time, to this strange phase in time and space, in a certain place, from a land of no reflection of before.
Looking on the ramparts to find our creator, busting down infernal walls and doors, on our way, ending up in the Charnel Vaults—
Some of us being rescued by the blood of Christ! 
Others groaning with the demons, the very ones who imprisoned them, us!
All in some allied brotherhood, with demonian Lords that traverse the earth, awaiting for the forthcoming prophecies; waiting for Christ’s return!

6-13 & 14-2016 / #5277