marți, 5 ianuarie 2016

Ouija

A voice from the shadows fills the air
It freights the heart and puts rational mind to despair
Her words come blunt, truthfully and weighty
Heed the sapience even when is naughty

Graphics and symbols engraved
On paths shady enlightened
By magic of the fallen paved
With gates and keepers darkened

A band of spirits the deed enact
So the mortals can contact
The undead and the departed
The unknown….and the retarded

God and Satan are debating
If it’s the echo of a forgery
But we find them guns calibrating
When the naked truth reveals its mystery

Science and religion are antiques
When developing new techniques
Thru mists and witchcraft you are reborn
By the gracious god’s quill and his sinning thorn

Fathom everything with grace
While you seek the god
No mask can hide your taint
But for getting his embrace
Enthrall the perky muse on the forsaken rod
To rotten the new aphrodisiac saint

There is the foulest of decisions
When waste becomes from diamonds and gold
The corpse of the quill carries obsessions
Everyone will greedy taste
Panting hard and deep losing their chaste
As you, with last breath, to him thy soul you’ve sold

Your body is a vestige of a primal
Hymn of tears, death, and blood
Into a ravishing juice melting grotesque
Of delirious ambrosia and acidic nectar
When is caressed and bitten feral
Bones are cleaned to the thrill an exotic mood
Offered on the boiled altar
Horny-skinned token of unholy picturesque

Note 1: Written on 22 September 2014 for the upcoming "Epitaph of the Decayed Quill" project, dedicated to Sylvia Plath.

Note 2: The poem is the winner, by community choice, in the prompt competition "Game" of The Reverie Journal

You can find the poem published in The Reverie Journal's e-page following the link:

 http://thereveriejournal.com/2016/01/10/ouija-by-vlad-teodor-pectu/