Wednesday, June 8, 2016

Xivaâ’s Dream (In Poetic Prose/fusion poetry)

Raised up from the powers of Hell, Xivaâ, gave up his soul to live his dream, that he was a prince, with his shepherdess, in the Great Vale of Atlantis, cradled in the great mountains within the heartland of Poseidon —

Lo, he wished to live with her in kingdoms that never were.

Forthwith, it came about, a perished kingdom made out of ashes and burnt-out pyres, shards and heaped ruins.

A dream or necromancy, who’s to say?

The lotus flower he gave to his beloved, with her light-auburn hair, and sea-green eyes, and garments of weaved silk, while in this cyclopean sleep!

Alas, a squire imp, pronounces him satisfied.

Now awakened in the lofty flocked pastures of Poseidon, a monstrous dominate lamia stands over him, in certitude…  Pointing a large stare, and straightforward finger, upwards.
As if he had lived his woolgathering daydream, his lifelong pomp if indeed it be called that!  Real or not!

In the end, his claim, has descended to dust and scarcity, was it real or was it not?
It doesn’t matter, he must now forfeit his soul, for he has lived his ambition.

And in consequence, he is brought aloft, where Ablis sits on his throne, made of an ever burning stone, where forth, Xivaâ’s soul becomes marked by the Eldritch Dark Empire with its sigil.

And now, to live his days out in sequence, and bated breath.