A ballad from lives unnumbered seeps through the osseous fabric,
an aquarium of time where
thought-swimmers drift beneath newborn memories.
My blue flower — that ineffable cipher
— burns in liturgical silence,
its vapours breathing galaxies into
the atrium of becoming.
Chapter
1: Elegy of the Vigil: The Birth of an Illusory Sun
You
heard me, but hearing unwed to listening
is the
cataract that veils the eye of the sea.
And so
the serpent coils in the cradle of our unwept stages—
a
guardian or deceiver of the thresholds we dare not name.
The
bridge of longing, severed by your left hand.
You cast
me to the precipice when you might have been a sanctuary.
I — snail-like — into the bitter spiral of lucidity.
You
sculpted the soul with the chisel of absence:
Each
strike, an invocation to the Unseen Hand that does not err.
I waited
— not for you,
But for
the one who lifts without possessing —
The
One-Who-Sees, whose gaze unravels the veil without tearing.
Sweet
mandolin of fractured time,
your
tone perforates the veil of matter like a forgotten benediction.
The eye
divides the real from its shadow; the fingers measure the vanishing.
Yet I
cannot seize what withered before it blossomed.
Rise —
ashless — and traced your sorrow upon the retina of the heart,
but none
beheld its script.
Now
nature recoils inward,
and
breath — that great ancestral breath — dissolves into silence with me.
I bow,
and bless the wound.
Listen and learn— not with the ear, but with the Totality of Being.
A satire
of sacred symphony —
And I, a
broken lyre in a world that has forgotten its music.
Melt
into the waxen hush of moonlight,
and the
world sifts its dust through me.
From its
hidden calyx arise vapours without number.
As time
passed, that fugitive harpist brushed my hair in play,
Whispering:
Tomorrow does not lodge in this hour.
As the
copper-leaved elegy of autumn
settled
into the loam,
And your
songs were adopted
by the
birds of Paradise, who do not return.
With
each footfall, we unlocked yet another gate —
And in a
kiss of fire, we embraced the falsely Absolute.
But
carnal love—unmoored from spirit—is fog and mire,
a
sacrament gone orphaned,
If the
soul drifts unanchored into the void.
Burned
with you, composing hymns of mystical rhyme,
Each
verse is an annunciation.
Beheld
you as my bridegroom —
Under
vaults of divine breath, I cried with fervour:
Remain —
for you are all I have not lost.
And it
seemed the Spirit brooded over us,
while
the pallid stars, ancient and uncertain, asked:
What has
ruptured this holy silence?
My quill
is wrought from tears and veiled knowing —
Shall I
vanish without you?
a psalm
unsung?
I was
rekindled when I found you on a feast day,
And
together we whispered of love and Christ
With
reverent hunger.
But now
I dissolve in seafoam,
extinguished
anew, famished in the architecture of verse.
You
glimmer within me still —
But
nightfall is a prophet of doubt,
And I am
seized:
What
lies beyond this final dusk?
I remain
a youth — still enamoured,
though
time has written elegies on my brow.
What
binds us now is not an embrace,
but a
question —
a
filament of chance, a tremor suspended mid-thought.
Why did
you cast me into the abyss
when you
could have been a shelter?
Why do
your arms still offer warmth
if love
is no longer yours to bestow?
Chapter
2: The Cathedral of Bone
Scents
arise — vinyl and vellum,
vanilla,
cinnamon, jasmine, ginger —
a
liturgy of perfumes: amber, musk, sandalwood, olive.
A
piercing green—spectral, untranslatable.
"The
heavens dimmed behind my ribs".
Sealed
within a poem of modern exhalation.
And the
wind became a desert blaze.
There, a
tender acacia rooted itself —
Three
wars ignited from one spark:
one with
pride,
one with
death,
and one
with the dream that dared too much.
A night
like a desert of insomnia —
draped
in the waning cloak of autumn.
Your
soul, hollowed by famine,
Its
primeval light imploded
Within
the cryptic folds of the unconscious.
The
immoral mask you wear:
mortuary-green,
tinged with the arrogance
of a silence
that has ceased to listen.
You
surge toward me —
a
verdure scorched beneath prophetic suns.
Thus
appeared my beloved in his delirium:
a
neurotic in ecstasy,
like a
tree split open by the wrath of heaven.
The
waters of life shift without warning,
and
their current drowns the unwary dreamer.
I dwell
in the shadow of your mistress —
as if
the death of a sleepwalker
had
stitched itself into my bones.
A
wellspring of love stands dry;
A
shattered brick lies forgotten on the pilgrim's path.
At the
border of milk and honey,
Two souls
wandered through time's cathedral.
Fragments
of mayflies collide with the cosmos —
You,
nightingale at the window of my mind,
The most exquisite of paintings,
whose
fragrance perfumes the unspoken.
At the
threshold of spirit and mind,
a
fracture — quartz and diamond both.
My
beloved Jesus Christ,
sanctify
me in the fire of Your love.
Chapter
3: The Pearl of Weeping: Memory of a Narcissus
I
remember: calling you to collect the tears—to string from them your finest
pearl.
Undo
this corset of sorrow —
Could
you clothe me instead in the tenderness of love?
Let my
affection become your refuge,
and
through your gentleness.
To carve from your mind a garden of stillness.
But I am
below, and you — far above,
enthroned
in light beyond the reach of grief.
So
distant that sorrow swallows me whole.
You are
elevated — and I, the earth-bound ache.
If I
lose you, what meaning shall remain?
At the
border of ebb and flow,
The law
of rhythm slipped between our grasping fingers.
At the
border of day and night,
vain
words rise — or faith, trembling in all things?
I still
pass the platform of our train — do you see?
"The
sky bleeds blue and crimson".
Still, I
wonder: why are you not here?
Is it
that I did not dare enough?
Now nature
folds into herself.
By
moonlight, I become wax —
In the
hush of the world's awakening.
Chapter
4: The Excommunication of Sophia
Prisoner
to the self's interminable dialectic,
Juggling
past, present, and liminal aspiration.
Learned
am I in amor's cruel geometry —
to wield
love as an instrument,
to
endure the benign veil of deception.
He
interdicted my unmediated theurgical agency,
assuming
the mantle of hierophant, enjoining silence upon the lambs,
proclaiming
femininity impure, abject, and bereft of sacredness.
Obedience
was decreed the sole feminine ordinance;
divine
eros eclipsed beneath the austere aegis of ideological rigor.
The
sanctuary of feminine invocation was
barred
save through patriarchal intercession,
where
authority was elided with dominion,
and
correction transmuted into the veiled machinery of colonisation.
I wept —
not in frailty, but in sacred negation;
The intellect,
once a vaulted divine poem, is
now
exiled to subterranean penumbra.
He
levied a tithe upon my contemplations,
Reifying
his nomenclature with the spoils of my reflection.
Dreading
the vessel of Sophia, he shattered the chalice,
denying
the libation of sacramental encounter — yet the shards endure,
vestiges
of the original altar's memory.
The
gravest transgression was not just carnal betrayal,
But the
occultation of vocation,
an
excommunication of my autonomous theophany.
Tears
inscribe sacramental scars upon these pages—
an
alchemy of lament woven into the vellum of remembrance,
where
each glyph bears the trace of divine eros and kenosis.
This
fragile codex, a palimpsest of wounded grace, trembles beneath the weight of
sacred memory.
In one
hand, I cradle the temporal residue—the palpable vestiges of a past;
In the
other, the luminous potentiality of an eschatological future—
flesh
and phantasm converging in dialectical tension.
Within
these hands, the duality of ambrosial sustenance and the pomegranate's arcane
seed—
a
liturgy of Dionysian paradox enfolded in Apollonian clarity.
The
Promethean apple of Hephaestus, redolent with forge and fire,
balances
the ethereal cadence of Apollo's flute—
Harbingers
of incarnation and transcendence entwined.
One hand
reveals the ontic, the realm of manifest and immanent being;
The
other beckons into the abyssal domain of apophatic mystery.
This
ontological burden—an exousia that bows the soul beneath its inexorable
gravity—
incites a
theodicy of the self, caught between the eros of becoming and the eros of
divine returning.
Chapter
5: Born of Rubies: Theology of Courage
Thus,
from sapphires and rubies emerged a maiden:
Fear,
veiled beneath a sable, eidolic spirit.
This
nascent girl—this primordial dread—
danced
with sovereign pride and insatiable greed across the verdant expanse,
moving
in symphony with the dark triad of lies, rage, and envy.
Delicate
as the lily's sacred blossom,
playful
as a sylvan eidolon—
She ensnares
men within her hypnotic, labyrinthine weave.
Behold
Fear: relentless enslaver of the noetic realm,
In
somnium, she proffers hollow titles, dominions, and illusory possessions—
Theurgy
of corruption birthing an insidious shadow,
cast
upon the altar of the host—a pestilence masked in deception.
From
counterfeit gems, a chimeric abomination arises—madness incarnate,
an
ontological rupture festering within the soul's precinct.
Chapter
6: The Altar of Endurance: Metamorphosis into an Alchemical Soul
Upon the
boulevard of memory, my footsteps echo—
as if
upon marble steeped in mourning, unbounded.
The blue
flower, once aflame with tender purity,
is now
transformed into the altar of endurance.
The
hunchbacked fool of love,
not bent
beneath the ravages of time,
but
beneath the weight of what hovers—ethereal, inscrutable.
Within
the allegory of unblemished hearts,
an
infinity of pathways scintillates beyond the great sundering.
Shattered
dreams, hurled against the crags of time,
dissolve
into the sands of eternal duration.
Pearls
suspended beneath a solitary star—
butterflies,
the mercurial flight of gulls;
upturned
orbits, fronded palms, a teasing Morgana;
The
torrid sun inclines over its protagonists.
Once
bowed beneath love for a nameless man,
Today I
rise renewed within cosmic waters,
each
solitary upon their sacred path.
I am one
with water, air, fire, and earth—
elements
coalescing in elemental symphony
Beneath
my dermis, icons emerge in sanguine balm,
each
scar a psalm, each wound a sacred ode.
Thou
never knew'st I harbored a cathedral within—
until
thy silence shattered its choral hymn.
Yet love
is imperishable; it transmutes—
from
flesh to spirit, from wound to flute's lament.
Though
thou wert but a lesson etched in flame,
I
fashioned an altar and whispered the ineffable Name.
Chapter
7: The Ancestral Voice
Within
her own Satyricon,
Hestria
chronicles this odyssey—
Fare
thee well!
