Openly in the bloody vein of Dani Filth.
Prince of Darkness?
Father of Lies?
Great Dragon?
All honours bestowed upon me;
But I would just as soon
Be called Saviour,
For what they fear in my eyes
They dare not harness
In themselves.
I have simply taken the first step,
Willingly,
Down the spiral stair...
Down into the fucking Pit....
I.
Enters Darkness birthing her fatal young,
Assailing the earth and leaving all hung;
In a time already retching before came time,
When the world was held in a miasmic clime;
When wretched things and uncaged dæmons conspired,
Watching budding maleficence stand tall and aspire.
And floundering through the mire: a hapless wretch,
Cast out from a now-forgotten city-state
For crimes that would turn pale the most insatiate;
But of how he came to be none would speak so openly.
And so he wended his way into the welcoming wilderness,
With nothing less than a vengeful mind as company;
Swearing to never meet his eternal rest
Until he alone was Lord
And all praised his name, either sweetly or meekly.
He sought immortality,
To learn the word of the arcane,
To bed with evil and whatever devilry he could sustain.
Blood-magick, necromancy, invocation and blackest witchery:
Aught and all he would gorge on, with glee in his now saurian eyes.
Over marshland and moor, growing sour by the hour,
In ruin and citadel, he sought and scoured,
And in forlorn recesses of forests suspiring gloom;
Till he came upon a mountain cove,
Where he took refuge from thunder and rain,
And to contemplate the world's inevitable doom.
That tempestuous night he arose into a dream
Limited to the most aberrant and deviant of themes;
Wherein a nameless thing came careening t'ward him,
Speaking in multitudinous voice and yet so clear—
The doting father and nurturing mother,
Who knew his augured time was treacherously near.
II.
None more waywardly errant
Than this Black Knight born of night,
A never-Galahad,
With proclivities for the savage and mad.
His name was corrosive to the ears of men, yet slick;
On the tongues he severed it rolled sticky, thick:
Lyrus Maskivian.
He left necks of timid doves wrung and rent,
Throats of those he had run through,
Who never knew what their spent lives had meant.
Possessed of a mind now so inverted and perverted,
Tenanted by abhorrent conceptions he so viciously asserted.
All manner of fiends drew to him,
Swearing their allegiance
And unswerving obedience—
The bellicose soldiery of Askkalan;
Acclaiming their "Deathless Prince",
In whom they saw godhead evinced.
For what must have been centuries, he did burn on,
Blighting every kingdom that fell under his shadowy gaze;
Never a hint of remorse for his humanity so long forgone—
Ever more so were those darkling days.
III.
And by his side, steeped in allure,
Stood steadfast as eternal consort
Kaliandra, so impish and demure,
Whom to Lyrus's foul play had become inured.
But in truth they were more alike,
Down to the firestorms and lightening strikes
(That did more than just distort)
'Midst which both found more than a morbid comfort.
She was a fell-spoken, wide-eyed lynx
Smitten by this time-conquering Prince.
This débutante quickly tore across high society
When Lyrus first catalysed her latent insanity.
A raven that stole his cindered heart:
Was it the dusk in her eyes,
Or her razor-hot thighs,
That he would partner her to his felon art?
And she would say no more than this:
"I give you my serpentine kiss,
That you may persist and never desist;
To purloin from the Sun all his day
As I reign in your night as the Moon,
Lest we let it all slip and drip away."
IV.
Lyrus now enthralled
He palled the world that he abhorred,
Leaving little more than a cursory eulogy in his wake;
He all fury and carefree when the quietus came to take.
Sitting upon a throne of bone he espied a storm,
Amassing itself as he misdid:
How much more would he extend?
Till he became exalted in lore?
Till all saw his maw distend
And rend apart the last
Bastion of a restrictive past?
His thoughts weaving terror into tapestry,
Conjuring plans and further tragedy
(To satisfy his ever refining depravity);
And Kaliandra—the ice, the sting:
Her bifurcate tongue urging him on,
Whispering silky, sibilant songs
And more....
How auspicious everything now stands:
That I may snuff all hindrance in my way
By the deft heft of my crooked left hand,
Ushering in the coming end of days.
Father of Lies?
Great Dragon?
All honours bestowed upon me;
But I would just as soon
Be called Saviour,
For what they fear in my eyes
They dare not harness
In themselves.
I have simply taken the first step,
Willingly,
Down the spiral stair...
Down into the fucking Pit....
I.
Enters Darkness birthing her fatal young,
Assailing the earth and leaving all hung;
In a time already retching before came time,
When the world was held in a miasmic clime;
When wretched things and uncaged dæmons conspired,
Watching budding maleficence stand tall and aspire.
And floundering through the mire: a hapless wretch,
Cast out from a now-forgotten city-state
For crimes that would turn pale the most insatiate;
But of how he came to be none would speak so openly.
And so he wended his way into the welcoming wilderness,
With nothing less than a vengeful mind as company;
Swearing to never meet his eternal rest
Until he alone was Lord
And all praised his name, either sweetly or meekly.
He sought immortality,
To learn the word of the arcane,
To bed with evil and whatever devilry he could sustain.
Blood-magick, necromancy, invocation and blackest witchery:
Aught and all he would gorge on, with glee in his now saurian eyes.
Over marshland and moor, growing sour by the hour,
In ruin and citadel, he sought and scoured,
And in forlorn recesses of forests suspiring gloom;
Till he came upon a mountain cove,
Where he took refuge from thunder and rain,
And to contemplate the world's inevitable doom.
That tempestuous night he arose into a dream
Limited to the most aberrant and deviant of themes;
Wherein a nameless thing came careening t'ward him,
Speaking in multitudinous voice and yet so clear—
The doting father and nurturing mother,
Who knew his augured time was treacherously near.
II.
None more waywardly errant
Than this Black Knight born of night,
A never-Galahad,
With proclivities for the savage and mad.
His name was corrosive to the ears of men, yet slick;
On the tongues he severed it rolled sticky, thick:
Lyrus Maskivian.
He left necks of timid doves wrung and rent,
Throats of those he had run through,
Who never knew what their spent lives had meant.
Possessed of a mind now so inverted and perverted,
Tenanted by abhorrent conceptions he so viciously asserted.
All manner of fiends drew to him,
Swearing their allegiance
And unswerving obedience—
The bellicose soldiery of Askkalan;
Acclaiming their "Deathless Prince",
In whom they saw godhead evinced.
For what must have been centuries, he did burn on,
Blighting every kingdom that fell under his shadowy gaze;
Never a hint of remorse for his humanity so long forgone—
Ever more so were those darkling days.
III.
And by his side, steeped in allure,
Stood steadfast as eternal consort
Kaliandra, so impish and demure,
Whom to Lyrus's foul play had become inured.
But in truth they were more alike,
Down to the firestorms and lightening strikes
(That did more than just distort)
'Midst which both found more than a morbid comfort.
She was a fell-spoken, wide-eyed lynx
Smitten by this time-conquering Prince.
This débutante quickly tore across high society
When Lyrus first catalysed her latent insanity.
A raven that stole his cindered heart:
Was it the dusk in her eyes,
Or her razor-hot thighs,
That he would partner her to his felon art?
And she would say no more than this:
"I give you my serpentine kiss,
That you may persist and never desist;
To purloin from the Sun all his day
As I reign in your night as the Moon,
Lest we let it all slip and drip away."
IV.
Lyrus now enthralled
He palled the world that he abhorred,
Leaving little more than a cursory eulogy in his wake;
He all fury and carefree when the quietus came to take.
Sitting upon a throne of bone he espied a storm,
Amassing itself as he misdid:
How much more would he extend?
Till he became exalted in lore?
Till all saw his maw distend
And rend apart the last
Bastion of a restrictive past?
His thoughts weaving terror into tapestry,
Conjuring plans and further tragedy
(To satisfy his ever refining depravity);
And Kaliandra—the ice, the sting:
Her bifurcate tongue urging him on,
Whispering silky, sibilant songs
And more....
How auspicious everything now stands:
That I may snuff all hindrance in my way
By the deft heft of my crooked left hand,
Ushering in the coming end of days.
M.M. — November-December MMX; Februarius-Aprilis, Iunius, September, November MMXI
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