Rebirth of the Ancient Cities

I

tiny creatures of the earth
submerged in mere folly
of an ancient cities; once
burned and sacked by
the heavens wrath

Woe to thee people of dust,
transporting thy self to the
hot mass of deluge, turning
against the path bestowed upon
the dilapidating race of mankind
by the Son of Man..

Who says that we live in an age
where gods of the myth
were already killed by the saints?

Who says that we live in an age
where idolatrous craps do not exist
any longer?

Thats at least for a while

For gods of the myth had only
put on a rest upon the fallacy
they once disseminated upon
our ancient fathers..
And now the idols have regained
their strength; reigning within
the threshold of rationalism.

II

A city breathing through the devils
breathe, kissed by the fallen mass
of angels, there rests the couch
he seeks and found, an idol god
named reason..

A throne imbued with the licks
of lust, drugs, and crime
and within the core of the sun,
in the name of an idol god,
there sprout out the culture of death,

spreading throughout his empire

Hail thou sleepers, get up and rise!
Climb the pinnacle of the highest plateau,
then come watch below..
Witness the rebirth of the ancient cities!

Time

Every tik-tak of the clock
and every syllable or rhyme
of a poetry sublime
catches us on to the dock..

of an illusion deep in slumber,
where sleep bring us the morrow
and past that we can tow,
in flocks we dream to gather.

hither to join His holy campaign
a crusade we shall call it,
to mock the spectral hordes that beat
our weaknesses inundates by bane.

hail to the time wherein we tread
in which all are habitants of flux and death.
How noble is the air we breathe
through time; adamantine thread.

Hail to the beasts, sky and sea.
Hail to the Master beyond.
He that puts us into the threshold of bond,
into a clock that bids us to see.

the hints and tastes which truly awaits us
beyond time, and through eternity,
where exist not the dingy
and exist not the thoughts of dust.

divine abattoir

Let not the shower
of despair trample
me on through the dome
of divine abattoir
Let not my angst nor
grief push me to the
gates of solitude
For these sorts
are mere vanities and
wild pretension
Let not this gloom
stream forth into my dale,
where bios and zoe
makes their stand
against each selves
that keeps their flames
of desires going

All of these, let not let not,
but let the desire
of killing the bios, be my
impetus to tread inside
the dome of solitude..
Let it be the mystic flame..

I craft a woman with a lace

I craft a woman with a lace
to fill my empty bowl,
just to retrieve the lively grace
where I had swear my vow.

Thus I had then traced her features
and formed an imagery,
and found comfort through live picture,
young at age; pure as she.

I seek her smile and purity,
her innocence as well,
this one I'd met in destiny,
lovely and so noble.

But then, at least, just for a while;
for she's not she and she's
herself, not the one so fragile,
and so I trudged amiss.

No daffodils nor lavenders
could trace the charm of her,
neither daisies nor a pecker
could resemble her lure.

So I lament the lost of bond,
may she come back, I pray.
For now I live in moribund
in which I live as prey.