'...You'd be so lean, that blast of JanuaryWould blow you through and through. Now, my fair'st friend,I would I had some flowers o' the spring that mightBecome your time of day...'
William Shakespeare, The Winter's Tale, Act IV Scene 4.
William Shakespeare, The Winter's Tale, Act IV Scene 4.
'The dream-child moving through a land -Of wonders wild and new,In friendly chat with bird or beast -And half believe it true.'
anonymous
anonymous
Day of the Sun
First dawn of the reign of Ganymede – bearer of the two streams
Year of the Caminus Canis
Pullus Lignues - the heavenly fowl has flown back to the coop from where it came, and with it, all the happiness and sorrows, all the laughter and tears, all the pain and pleasures. The Master of its pen is generous.
Too generous for this rotting flesh…
The Demon has seen dreams fulfilled and dreams shattered, hope hold and hope lost, future build and future came to past. He sat silently in his Cave of Adumbration ruminating on the claw marks, the green feathers, the golden and the rotten eggs left by the heavenly fowl.
Some of the claw marks were an art form; some were just mere ugly markings. Some of the feathers were in good forms – worthy of a plush pillow or even a whisk; but most suits only as annoying dumps. Some of the golden eggs would be handsomely prized but most would fits as meal for the grumbling belly – sufficient, but inadequately filling. Some of the rotten eggs were torturous to adenoids; but most of the putrid smell seems to oddly ameliorate the diminishing light of the Demon’s Magnaminitas.
The Demon’s head is filled with catechisms. A distorted soul such as he is has always been cursedly blessed with such incongruous thoughts. There seem to be no end to it.
“Would the streams of Ganymede dampen the wrath of the Caminus Canis?”
Only silence answered him…
“Would the Caminus Canis be a faithful companion in my journey to the Kingdom of Naturae or would they become the carnivorous Cerberus that would forever taunt my sordid existence?”
Only Kronos daunting smirk leer answered him…
As the ghosts of of uncertainties claim the throne of the Demon’s brimestne heart, and as the plauge of doubts beset his existence, the Glorified Child of Agnus can only find confort trough these chants…
“Master…
Let not any of my worries undispelled,
Let all my tasks be made easy,
Let my rambling mind relieved,
Let my blackened heart illuminated.”
First dawn of the reign of Ganymede – bearer of the two streams
Year of the Caminus Canis
Pullus Lignues - the heavenly fowl has flown back to the coop from where it came, and with it, all the happiness and sorrows, all the laughter and tears, all the pain and pleasures. The Master of its pen is generous.
Too generous for this rotting flesh…
The Demon has seen dreams fulfilled and dreams shattered, hope hold and hope lost, future build and future came to past. He sat silently in his Cave of Adumbration ruminating on the claw marks, the green feathers, the golden and the rotten eggs left by the heavenly fowl.
Some of the claw marks were an art form; some were just mere ugly markings. Some of the feathers were in good forms – worthy of a plush pillow or even a whisk; but most suits only as annoying dumps. Some of the golden eggs would be handsomely prized but most would fits as meal for the grumbling belly – sufficient, but inadequately filling. Some of the rotten eggs were torturous to adenoids; but most of the putrid smell seems to oddly ameliorate the diminishing light of the Demon’s Magnaminitas.
The Demon’s head is filled with catechisms. A distorted soul such as he is has always been cursedly blessed with such incongruous thoughts. There seem to be no end to it.
“Would the streams of Ganymede dampen the wrath of the Caminus Canis?”
Only silence answered him…
“Would the Caminus Canis be a faithful companion in my journey to the Kingdom of Naturae or would they become the carnivorous Cerberus that would forever taunt my sordid existence?”
Only Kronos daunting smirk leer answered him…
As the ghosts of of uncertainties claim the throne of the Demon’s brimestne heart, and as the plauge of doubts beset his existence, the Glorified Child of Agnus can only find confort trough these chants…
“Master…
Let not any of my worries undispelled,
Let all my tasks be made easy,
Let my rambling mind relieved,
Let my blackened heart illuminated.”
“Master…
Thee do I serve,
Thine aid I seek,
Shine the path unwaivered,
Path of those thy grace visits,
Path of those thy wrath shy,
Path of those thy guide holds…”
The journey is still long. But for now, the Demon rest.
‘Tis the time where the pious bowed,
Second dawn of the reign of Ganymede – bearer of the two streams,
Year of the Caminus Canis,
‘Tis the tale of the Demon…
2 comments:
your post ni scary la... ;)
lady witch,
its not the pist that is scary, but the soul that wrote it.
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