-Geist 1988-
My hand on the planchette
Drifting letter to letter
Points to answers I want to hear
Ideomotor effect, perhaps
I have always been a poor medium
Instead I seek your face
in ectoplasmic tintypes
Snapped by a spiritualist
I paid him to capture them
Surreptitiously
Black and white, silver moonstone mirrored
My beautiful specter haunting the dark spaces
Pale and dusty and bloodless
Emerging from shadows like gauze on a trick wire
False Apparition, passion that never was, passion nonetheless.
-Warlock 1998-
Terrible
Unleashed upon the world
I may have broke the circle
But Sygils traced in dust
Couldn't hold you anyway
My vain and exquisite Beast
Comes in a pleasing form
Wailing for sacrifice
With sharp tongue slashing
Plunge the knife in
An incomplete incantation
Ritual blood spilled and wasted
A yellow sickness of possession
Left me abandoned, fevered
To retch you from my being like an ill humour
-Angelus 2002-
In the beginning there was your hand
A simple gesture
Your hand in mine
A bird feather touch as time falls away
The hourglass emptied into aeons
And In the silence
Rushing of wings and wings
I am purified by oblivion
Heaven's light too bright then black
My soul devoured by Seraphim fire
Reborn
Into beatific, divine madness
I remember the sacrament
The salt on your cool skin
And the candy snap of your hollow bones
1/2011
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