The Raven
Raven feast, From pools of glory.
Raven patterns or a Serpent.
Wings or a belly.
Serpent feast, From pools of glory.
Raven feast, From pools of glory.
Patterns dissolve, time reveals what's left.
Same pool of glory Two paths.
Wings or a belly. Flying or crawling.
What is left when the Raven dissolves? Or the Serpent? Who flies and who crawls?
Deep in the heart of the Raven, true to its Name, the Raven remains.
The Mockingbird loses its Wings, devoured by the Serpent; feasting on scorched dirt and dry parchment.
Feast Raven, in eternal pools of glory, drink deep from the fountain of life, expand your Wings; Roam the Eternal Clouds in Winds of Fire, free from the icy, clumpy, dirt, forever.
By Kim Mayfield
Poetry and Revelations
Finrock wrote: ↑Tue Oct 29, 2024 3:51 pm WHAT LANGUAGE
What language do I speak?
My words glide over the surface of rock hard ice. Frozen time. Frozen mind.
I see ears and I see heads. My words fly towards the heads and ears. They fall down as snow. A gathering pile of diamonds melting down the drain.
What language can I speak that might be as daggers that pierce?
Love thy neighbor as thyself has echoed since the Fire. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you and do not unto others what you would not have done unto you is an internal fiber of being.
How deep the frosty wind of death has Frozen the breath around the soul like a shell of ice. How long has his work endured? How many millenia of whispers spoken into the ears and accepted as an apple for life?
A light dagger. Words like plasma, let that be my language. Fire melts Ice but unless Ice has a Fire core there may be nothing left.
O, Icy Lake, when the dagger reaches your core let it merge with your heart and let it burst in to flame. Let the Ice melt quickly and wash away the lies.
By Kim Mayfield
Finrock wrote: ↑Mon Oct 28, 2024 6:01 pm THE LAKE OF FIRE
Fire entities roam their home. Engulfed in flames of life, light, and truth. A snake eating itself.
Gorging on meat they become weak. Small worms can't build a house. But what if I was a frog?
What is a frog? Eyes to see. Ears to hear. Nose to smell. Legs to move. Mind to think. Sturdy, adapted. Humble.
The Lake of Fire is our home and into this Universe we have roamed. Brought in through Love and captured by Hate. Stripping away flesh to reveal raw spirit.
What Sword can cut so precisely? What Shield can defend against such a Sword that cuts away both flesh, bone, and to the marrow?
In the forest the hermit hones his skills. Gathering Fire within. No eggs, no creations, only discipline and practice and time, like a sponge, gathers in the ingredients necessary for a House.
A House of God. A Holy House. Set apart for the worms who would be frogs. Will you Enter The Lord's Holy House? Or will you return to the Fire, trapped by your appetites?
"Discipline equals freedom!"
The Morning Star Mist
Sleeping, hiding, deep dark. Watchful eye peers from dreams. Lurking over the world, a hidden veil. Pathological, organized, a void. Except the eros of enmity from envy the soul is empty.
Taking forms of light it spreads it blight through mirrors and smoke. Singers and clowns frame the scene; a screen of every changing dreams, spells that bind and freeze, warping minds, stealing solid ground that links us to All in All.
A vast dark river flows underneath. As fountains and springs it surfaces. Each seems distinct on its own. Flavored and varied yet the water is the same.
"Turn this paradise in to chaos!" A god of Chaos? A god of order. From chaos it will bring order. A new world order. An order of dark ages and dark deeds.
The hidden veil drops and from the deep a new god rises, like a morning star, to guide mankind through it's night. Lucifer they call him! Serpent of Serpents.
Dreams shatter and the spells all fall. Deep in the Cosmos the All in All calls. The Mighty and Strong One, The Everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace, has sharpened his Sword and Sprear. His scepter in hand crowned by the most magnificent jewels, His anointed, rises like the Sun and the morning star fades away.
By Kim Mayfield
Sleeping, hiding, deep dark. Watchful eye peers from dreams. Lurking over the world, a hidden veil. Pathological, organized, a void. Except the eros of enmity from envy the soul is empty.
Taking forms of light it spreads it blight through mirrors and smoke. Singers and clowns frame the scene; a screen of every changing dreams, spells that bind and freeze, warping minds, stealing solid ground that links us to All in All.
A vast dark river flows underneath. As fountains and springs it surfaces. Each seems distinct on its own. Flavored and varied yet the water is the same.
"Turn this paradise in to chaos!" A god of Chaos? A god of order. From chaos it will bring order. A new world order. An order of dark ages and dark deeds.
The hidden veil drops and from the deep a new god rises, like a morning star, to guide mankind through it's night. Lucifer they call him! Serpent of Serpents.
Dreams shatter and the spells all fall. Deep in the Cosmos the All in All calls. The Mighty and Strong One, The Everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace, has sharpened his Sword and Sprear. His scepter in hand crowned by the most magnificent jewels, His anointed, rises like the Sun and the morning star fades away.
By Kim Mayfield