joi, 30 aprilie 2015

Mort d'un poète nucléaire



Oh, la mort!
Le rideau tombe
Et la convocation des corbeaux majestueux m’appelle;
L'infinité j’embrasse dans tes ombres et tes cascades subreptices;
La plume chaotique appelle mes muses à la tombe,
Sous les murs de plomb et les salles cendrées,
ma nymphe meurtrière enchante l'âme entachée dans les chaînes.

duminică, 19 aprilie 2015

Three decades of darkness




Enshrouded in tenebrous rivers of Tartar
The alpha decade is baptized in fiery tar;
Its chaotic purity is unseen and unique.
Enthralling and antique,
An ethereal soul starts an adventure
At the end of time; fleshes prepare for apocalyptic departure…

The glyphs are read, spoken and disembodied
In a decade of encoded mists;
The cryptic eclipse rises beyond thirteen heavens
And dawns tormented on wings of ravens;
A gaze scorches in radiation of eerie twists,
As echoes of annihilation embrace the ration… at last the thoughts have died!


The omega particles of twilight are now active
In burlesque waltzes… every move a shadow to revive…
They embody deep within him in the last of the three decades –
The one that was chronicled by prophets for when the light fades:
The dawn of Akasha's immortals is now upon all!
All innocents at the occult throne’s marble feet sinfully fall;
By chemical poison of words his quill enslaves the Goths;
While everything corrodes and unholy rots,
His muses are queens to rule fiendish creatures beyond masquerades.

duminică, 12 aprilie 2015

Words transcending corpses



The eyes of the surrounding beasts grow ever blind;
The owls have sacrificed them to forgotten gods of old.

A loss of memory entombs us as equals to the path we find –
The untamed and unholy steps of the quill that stories has told.

In the thrill of a murdering “hello” our gazes shiver,
Imagination goes rampant and slices minds of ethereal flesh;
Hearts are on the table… to be served raw and fresh.

Through your hair the bullets of my whispers quiver.
My skin is the parchment your words thresh
Amidst the chaos… runes your tongue carves… refresh.

In the twilight of mortals your sun my breath has taken.
The muses that haunt you I embrace… forsaken!
In a tainted echo the tenebrous stars awaken
And ruins enshroud us, while chants of pagan rites are undertaken…

We talk about the country; we share prophecy of life;
You weep for my sweethearts… with thy hand wielding the knife;
I sing to them with tunes of the decadent fife;
You then say the forbidden words “I want to be your wife”…
I enthrall you to lacerate the sacrosanct ideas… on cookies then we strife…

Saints or angels we hang and behead in the heavens…
We travel the crimson veins on wings of the ravens…

A prayer you say for my sinning corpse and ashy soul,
But in darkness you hope that one’s self rots as thy ghoul.

With the diaphanous lips you bring me to silence…
The power of thy occult kiss conquers all in silence…
Your justice and revenge howl in my ghost the silence…
My soul is slumbering in a seraphic crypt in silence…
My molecules are poisoned in the taste of thy silence…
Canvas of silence... Silence!

luni, 6 aprilie 2015

Visions of a good soul



Crimson skies pour lead Easter eggs from fuscous clouds,
Mists and fogs fight for whom will bring humanity under its shrouds…
The good departed soul awakes sinful from slumber at night,
Watching and peeking as dryads waltz burlesque in freight:
Tyrant and putrid housewives open the cryptic windows
Trying to find their one ring shackled husbands… and then to remain widows…

Ashy feet take walks of long and firm steps upon the chaotic sands,
Tired of their forsaken place in order to find new uncharted lands;
In shadows of suns and pierced by moons they rot and decay,
Grasping upon dark wings of ravens the immortal canvas of gray,
The angels of tantalizing fleshes, the addiction they flay –
The beer-maddened muses and nymphs which by tainted quill the good soul shall slay!