Sunday, July 31, 2016
The Stranger (Reedited)
From the Hyperborean Mythos
(In Long line, Narrative Poetic prose)
Lo! I know not, ere, where these visions came from: perchance, in the deep ebony eldritch scrolls of space and time, into my mind—
Perhaps tossed out of God’s archives, kept in his storeroom of infinite finalities, yet to be, to give to you during these sarcophagus end times!
Perchance, out of some pocket once hidden in a gravitational wave.
Who’s to say?
Written long ago on old scrolls by old prophets who have once lived and amalgamated and recorded, times yet to be, these were in part, my visions but presented for today.
And here we are living them.
And its name I have learned, from above the invisible stars, being: Wormwood.
Meaning: ebony portals will be opened, and a nocturnal age is just ahead.
From barbarous times I was brought back to unknown lands, and man’s devious anomalous ways, to a sea of fire, and a sea of doom, to a ferruginous period, of unceasing querulousness, palpable and anomalousness; where eidolons mascaraed as humans.
They’re all among us: sobbing, whispering, and shouting, in multitudinous mutterings, in tumults, all have I seen in visions.
Learned from demons, and archangels: a vision, a word, a syllable, I have put them all together, I have laminated them, carved them in sandalwood and ivory, in ebony teakwood!
I loathe to speak of this land and by what name shall I call it? Babel?
And by what name do we know it? Alias, America?
Nay, it is she, the one forevermore the world seeks to destroy!
Many call her behind her back: lamia!
Greater than Rome, Greater than Greece in their memorable years, now the world scratches at her garments’ hem: they are not her friend!
I’ve seen it all unraveling: she was mingled in dust.
And the world around her carried on as if nothing was wrong, as in a royal pageant.
She was the stranger, and I heard a voice ask: “Where goest though?”
And she answered not, her brow down, darkened by her own unscrupulous demonic like potentates, who think they drink the ichor of the gods.
Did not her forefather’s give her an ominous dirge, to this malefic?
That men can be inhabited by coadjutant demon?
While building world globalism.
That freedom is an illusion?
And all will be accountable for her sins?
#5260/6-5-2016/ Reedited 7-31-2016