Whilst scrying through a visionary’s fate, I see the wild eyes of feral beasts peering out of the darkness. A sweeping mistress wades to and fro across the river Styx and the tears of heaven tear the veil of hells gate.

Stark relics tell of primitive Shamanic beliefs. An odious deity transforms before my eyes and metamorphous’ into mystical waves of convulsive chants.

Symbolic cannibalistic feasting magically influences those who are but a subclass of nature and draws me into their world.

Elementals surround in midnight conventions and pathological fascinations engulf all who dance beneath the moons white fullness. Lain upon rituals base, the white lady who proclaims death. A were beast chained against the sky god Horus, who would bear witness to regeneration.

A foreboding presence looms significantly over the oddly coiling processions imposing upon my serenity of madness. Voices call upon the wind and entice hapless victims to their wake and the black flames of hell lick against the rivers edge, illuminating the succubus and her prey.

No longer do I, from afar, document the scenes splayed before me, for now it is I who lay upon the rituals base. How it is that I became one with the horde, I do not know but looking out into the clear night sky I sense the fanatical hysteria elevating amongst the throng.

Pale death takes me by the hand and I feel as though my mind implodes as he engulfs my spirit shaping its true form. A fading blue aura sparks against the night sky as the spectral that is I, sheath’s its essence upon the physical body and I become a formative force. Now the true I, in elongation with the body, am in response to spiritual control.

An Emerald tablet appears before us and I, as if in a trance begin to write.

That which is above, is like that which is below and that which is below is like that which is above, to achieve the marvel of the one thing?. As I write I perceive the thoughts of those around me.

Flourishing secrets adorn the various deities and rites who partake in my regeneration and rebirth and ancient mysteries exodus from within.

Ashtoreth, Goddess of fertility hangs the root of the mandrake, with its enhanced resemblance of human form, from the arc of Eden’s labyrinth.

Dance mazes follow in ritualistic patterns that inadvertently lead to its core. Materialization of complete spirits, weave their expressions of secret knowledge upon the astral plane. Altered states of consciousness induce enlightenment eclipsed only by harmonies, disharmonies.

I swallow the burning sun within my night’s great rivers. The moons white fullness drains eve’s last call and the razors edge tears the fabric of time teetering upon an infinite crest of erroneous journeys delving into the deep where darkness dwells.

Silence reigns in the emptiness and spectral shards light dead pathways of the inner circle. Thorns entwine the clear depths of remorse embracing the lost and the barren land deserted.

A rose within the darkened crevices partially balanced, fighting to cross. Inscriptions of twisted bone and hair adorn the waning flora weighing heavily on its pose drawing the scented perfumes to their decay.

A roaring lion, swift with confusion calls forth the slaughter of age, anointing his kingdom with its scarlet stain. Besieged and entombed, fire engulfs the spiralling torrents made flesh.

The crescent moon laments to odious wolves who shield the captives, ancestors of old. Retreating fates deliver up a new prison to the flow of innocent blood. I hear the cry of desolation as its trouble awakens dormant shadows.

Death conspires against flowing waters to which submerge the truth by wicked means. A burning torch illuminates the darkness invading the illustrious and ancient lines, Great rage surges against a brazen past and ensnares an exiled future. Evolution stalls, the hands of time falter in rebellion and silent whispers echo against each other only to dissolve in the fiery depths of the mind.

I am the mist drifting throughout energies, engulfed by rays of colour and light.
The murmur that ripples across the sounds of whispers in the dark.
The music that reaches across the parallel to immerse the soul in hidden quiet and beauty.
I am the shadow that glides through the vines weaving a carpet to pave momentary paths.
The essence of thought that inspires and movement of time through windows of choice.
The focus that shrouds the way and opens the possible for seekers of knowledge.
I am the wisdom spoke of in dream and final breath to suppose a lifting of veil or precipice of understanding.
The light that pierces the boundaries of consciousness that evolves through becoming.
The seasons through quarters of time that enchant the unseen and forge the unknown.
I am the darkness that defines oblivion which outwardly moves the internal motion to cease the inevitable.
The flame that burns the rim taking gifts imparted by the abyss to engulf hope.
The muse who delivers synchronicity of circumstance and fate which falls where they will and rewards whom they choose.
I am the rain that sweeps the surface of the land scooping the remnants of past sorrows within my grasp and with swift release cleanse the torrent pools.
The wind that travels to and fro weakening the natures of evergreen thorns and climbs the vines that sway.
The movement that catches the sight in shadows and murmurs, essence and light.
I am the blaze of wisdom and flame drenched in torrents of music and rain.
The drift that pulls and turns immersing the shrouds and evergreen thorns.
The energies essence and veil that brings on the seasons and quarters of time.
I am the oblivion that reaches and splays lifting the winds and ripples the way.
I am the soul of hidden truths that travels through boundaries and evolves through you.
To me.

Bright lights shimmer across northern skies, dancing undeniably against the values of knowledge. Arrogance belittles salutations and fierce movements of scholarly debate turn and toss through incoherent babblings of haughty words, to blind the honour of ancient messages inscribed across the great land. Their truths flouted, to those lost to social acceptance.

Moving silently, they inscribe their presence to those of mutual perception, radiating soft glows which colour the deep, achromatic hues of sullen beauty. In shape and forms of lost times past, they penetrate the hidden depths of human ideology and fulfil the deliberate emptiness that permeates the relativeness of our understanding.

Rivers and oceans keep their secrets and through the endless times of forbidden reasoning’s, protrude throughout the long ages, imprinting themselves in cavernous discoveries. Lost tribes recollect and admonish those of blind consciousness. Subtle tales of mythical truths prevent the un-seeing, the un-willing from its perceived representativeness.

In shapeless sculpture of boundless fates, musings interact with protestations and forced declarations, ensuring the anonymity of conceptional notions. Abstract characteristics entwine the metaphorical with the measurable. Incitation’s arouse dormant stirrings and present themselves as normative.

Colliding swales swallow the mighty findings and deny their actuality of existence. Revolving limitations direct towards itself the harrowing sufferance of normality that influences the enamoured and attracts the futility of incomprehension. The swiftness of its being is caught beyond the observed and retracts into an absence of sound.

The Smokey mist of death, claws its way through the window of time, shattering the boundaries to which restrained it from this life.




Reaching frantically for my soul, the black hand of the reaper slices my reality, closing from me the door way to all I have come to know to be truth.

It's entrance crushing my mind, instilling a pain so deep, so unimaginable, I find I can not grasp at the things that make up humanity.

Out there on my own searching for pieces of me.


Not one can help in my endeavors, as alone they are mine.

Life pounds a rhythm that surrounds me although never touching, I see it in a clouded distance almost reachable, the elusiveness of its power alludes my presence.

Almost constantly, I am reminded of my weaknesses through the throbbing of its remains upon my cringing flesh, and those seared into my crumbling mind.

I feel as if I no longer exist, an apparition to me, I be but a walking reminder to myself that I am lost.

I step out side of this body to which I wander the Earth.

I see myself as no one sees. I want to reach out and touch, heal the wounds that run deep, yet find that not even I, who knows of each pain and hurt, can heal that which the reaper has inflicted.

I feel so alone; tears stream the length of my being, yet they heal naught my pain, a constant reminder of my fragile existence, the fragility that is apart of us all.

As a fearsome entity, he propelled himself into the realm of my world, the force of his entrance exposing me to the unknown.

I fight constantly to regain my strength beneath the black shadow of the reapers hand, but for now find I must relent to his dominance, bow to his pain, and live in his world.

The strength I thought was mine, is as elusive as the life I watch float past my conscious mind.

I see those outside looking in upon my crumbled world, with eyes of pity and hearts of sorrow. Anger wells within me. Whether it be at they, or myself, I know not. Yet it over powers all that surrounds me, fading the colours of my mind to the deepest shades of Grey's and Blacks, each one having no distinction from the other.

Of those looking in, some touch, some smile, some speak, although seeing their mouths move in speech, I hear not their words.

My hearing dissolves in their presence.

Stilted images parade themselves as slides projected on to a brick wall in disrepair. Only the blackness shines through the crumbling mortar.

Blood drips from the sharp edges, as tears forge their mark into the smooth remnants of past memories.

I try to detach myself from their constant reminder, through the mindless wanderings of everything and nothing that pertains to those images. But find that no matter where I take myself , they violently crash through, infiltrating any, and every thought, every sound, everything that is me. Taking me against my will, to places unknown, places unwanted.

Nothing is real anymore.

My thoughts are an illusion my mind brings to be. My speech is clouded by the constant lies I visualize in my consciousness. My body knots and contorts at images and thoughts, that are now part of my existence. Still the tears flow, bringing now a sadness to a heart already bruised at the loss of self .

Where did I go? I silently scream into the darkness that now surrounds me.

Will I ever be found? I cry secretly to the wall, drenching all sanity with pain, whilst closing all doors.

I lay myself upon my pillows, and drift across the dream plain, blackness being my only comfort .

I search every cavern, looking for an escape into a world that no longer exists. At every turn, the dark mist of the reaper blinds me to the pathways of forever. Whispering into the darkness as a child face to face with their terror.

"It wasn't me, it must have been another, this isn't real, it must have happened to another" then screaming. I run mindlessly through the black caverns, losing my way at every turn. I retract deeper into my mind, until I become unreachable.

In sleep, I feel my body twist into a tight ball, I feel the warmth of tears caress my face. Alone in the damp blackness I look for my help, extending my hand, blindly, searching for a touch of warmth. Occasionally something brushes against my fingertips, and for one second in time, I feel the presence of another ease my pain. But in the blinking of an eye, the blackness returns, and the reapers hand grips my still beating heart, constricting my breath, 'til I be but a shell.

Then I wake, whispering into the night, "it wasn't me".