Whose voice calls in my dream?
Can it be or is it for Him?
Whose hands reveal the unimaginable*
How evident enough will its effect be possible*
In this RACE, let no patience dribbles me away
An irresistible act of catching away due to divine force
Spurs me to wantng eternal desires
Sooner, all events of the age of grace would end
Other eschatological events will b given regard
Divinely, it's of PRIVILEGE & never a right
All saints would be carried away with Him
Both dead & living will be transformed
Immortalised - whole in spirit, soul & body
Escaping the course of tribulations to come
When ANTI-CHRIST will surface earth to fulfill prophecies
Outside are dogs & sorcerers
Never had they decline His existence
But want immorality - sexually shutup around & love the practice of lie
Forever certain and fire, the will continuously cry
As living being - you get grace for DOOR remains open
Abandoning it is scary to consequence
What may bring shame & prejudice
Fear nothng and this world of vanity
Lose all & have eternity
Thats God's PLAN for man
Of Kings and Queens and magic rings
Sorcerers and Dragons
Of Knights and Squires and midnight fires
Wines from kegs and flagons
Of battles won beneath the sun
For castles in the sand
The mystery of history
Sparks the legends of this land
Build the towers you want,
this and that; green, red, and black,
Who defends you, that’s your business, but
Franciska is mine, my freedom.
Don’t pretend you don’t hear,
Neither prophets nor sorcerers will pass you by.
They will not help you.
Francisca is not interested in those planets of yours,
nor comets from which you send kisses and hugs.
Franciska is spring and summer and fertile autumn,
and you are winter, your cold soul.
That sounds like you.
Emerald Fortifications,
White Crystal Spears are nothing.
Nor the fire of the wicked dragons of heaven
they won’t help, they won’t help you.
Free bird, It’s Franciska!
Sweet words have long since faded.
She is the queen of all the colors of
the ocean and sea and all the purple dawns.
She is but a nightmare for you.
For me, there will be all of her colors.
She is mine,
The most beautiful queen.
A harsh word can kill, if I utter it.
So, dear God, I do not play with love.
I love you Dear Franciska
How can I perfect me, if I let the actions or the words of others affect me, since a child God muted my prayers & neglected me, she said she loved me but she showed it through telepathy, abuse, & profanity, abandon by family, even Lucifer & his army wouldn't stand with me, catastrophe's shooting dice with calamities, so my survival mode kick in, that was just the man in me, tryna break free from my desires inspired me, my souls been suffocated while my spirit suffers from burns beyond a 3rd degree, Eve & Adam ate of me, I'm that forbidden tree, sin sizzling, sitting in the belly of a bumble bee, sorcerers invoking demons through their philosophies & monstrosities, birthing Plato & Socrates, their illusion of life tricking our retina, for that's all we see these beings killed the Messiah then committed blasphemy, so what you think they will say about or do to me?
So see why I cant let the actions or words of
others affect me, when I'm tryna perfect me,
washing away sin from a tree.
gather wares for market day
and cauldrons of the land
baneful stock for the boiling pot
before the evening’s end
tankards spill and taverns heave
upon these Beltane days
see magic folk and sorcerers
on an otherwise malaise
then pack the carts and disappear
before the robin sees
and woe betide the straddlers
caught there on Gallows’ Eve
Spookaroo where are you he yells while standing at the window
his diaper is sagging and his witches hat is crooked and all askew
The ghostees are busy tonight preparing candy for the big kids
she says, and the sorcerers are chanting in the forest of doom
But when are the Spookaroos coming, I don't see a think out there
then he sticks a thump in his mouth and pops out his big blue eyes
They are flying in the sky my love checking out the little children
now let's put your costume on and shell out, remember no peeking
He walks bow legged to his room and parts the curtains just a wee
hoping to catch their attention, he bangs at the window with a shoe
Spookaroo spookaroo where are you, I got gummy bears for you
the witch's costume waits on the bed, he catches a cold Achoo!
Mom lifts him up and runs to the den with a voice singing soft and low
" they're a comin a comin, and they love naked bellies my son "
Quick get your costume, hide your navel, the spookaroos are here
toeing, he runs with his hands in the air screaming, no fair no fair !
Morgan Le Fay, born in England, becomes a priestess
and a leader of the sixth century cult called Darkhold.
Later turns into the supervillain of Marvel Comics
and the nemesis of the original Black Knight.
Derived from her faerie genetic configuration,
she possesses natural affinity for magical forces,
that made her one of world’s greatest female sorcerers
who can mystically manipulate the earth’s ecosystem.
She can cast illusion to remove spirits from their bodies,
place them under her total control as an enchantress.
With the supernatural power to transmute things,
she can change people and animals into other forms.
Her schemes have crossed the limits of centuries,
the true power of the magician filled with ill will,
destroys kingdoms and challenges all the Avengers,
while her elven heritage grants her immortality.
She can control the astral space where she once existed
and descending on earth she tries to take it over.
Her feats earn her a place in Sanctum Sanctorium
as the world’s latest sorcerer supreme.
_____________
April 9, 2023
Contest : The Women Of Hellboy
Sponsored by : Robert James Liguori
Thoughts start to invade my mind,
Mixed emotions embraced my heart
Lost self, where can I find?
Swollen eyes, where are you staring at
Locked inside a four-cornered room
Tangled chain tightly grasping my wrist
I wanted to escape this harsh world,
I wanted to live on a faraway land
Looking outside the window,
Staring at the beautiful moon as it glows
It does not lessen my fear,
As I see witches flying in near
This world is full of autocratic sorcerers,
A world where mere trance is not enough
A world that many suffers
A world that you can hardly survive
A mortal like me
Desiring a harmonious life
Put under this curse
Would I be free from this domineering world?
It is the witching hour.
There are no breezes in a windowless house.
There are no shadows in a cave devoid of light.
There are no dreams in a sleepless night.
It is the witching hour.
When our endangered psyche roams.
When we are captured by pernicious spells.
When we are easy prey for rogue chieftains.
It is the witching hour.
When warlords game the system.
When sorcerers gaslight the faithful.
When conspiracy conquers fact.
Only the crestfallen sense the seamless
interval of peril.
Only the dejected resist the wizardry
of the despot.
Only the discouraged view the counterfeit
wallpaper of rot.
Only the discontented shout the truth
against the cacophony of sophistry.
But Stonehenge, the domain of the dead,
will always know first light,
will always vanquish the ruse of our sanctity,
will always sweep away the opiate specters
of tyranny.
The witching hour no more.
Light, the detox to our Stockholm syndrome.
The witching hour no more.
Democracy survives
to live another day.
Diabolical
The fancy pride coming from envy is diabolical,
teasing with power to proof what is essential.
Democratic values diminishing by pretense,
ethical principles and its hollow essence.
When genius becomes diabolical by greed,
and the system is the mother of that seed.
Evil ridicules all faith and delivers only fears,
controlling all slaves to its pears.
Algorithms for phony addictions,
the machine and the sorcerers affection.
The circus of political manipulated innocence,
turns out to be a diabolical cunning consequence.
Unholy grimaces for the pleasure of false,
Mephisto’s presidency enriching his pals.
Diabolical liberties to seal all souls forever,
capital worshipper by adoration clever.
Finding location in the doubting eyes,
and through gossiping faces it flies.
Fast magic hands that hide the tricks,
endless boredom and the need for a fix.
She showed me the soul of pink flowers and the hidden colors of life, so the angels who know everything add nothing and the sorcerers who do everything do nothing. From her perfume, the world takes his meaning and the candles have no souls in the absence of her soft hand. You can’t feel the days’ pulses without her perfume and the riverbanks’ flowers can’t find their chants but in her eyes. In fact I can't continue to live in this empty desert because my horses smell her remote perfume. This remote perfume has reached me last days where I was driving my thought towards surrealistic free world. Believe me, I know that it has inspirational windows and its sky has awesome colors, but what can I do, if all my doors were stolen and all my eyes were closed by unknown?
Ancient priests,
witch doctors,
shamans,
sorcerers.
Power!
Held the
ancients in
control.
Existence
frightening,
answers few.
Power, the
few holding
the many.
Control!
Controllers,
followers.
Power,
rewards for
those who
grasp it!
Humanity,
pecking order.
Power passed
from ancients
thru modernity!
Nothing
changed!
Few
controlling
the many.
Change.
Change
coming.
Hive.
Human hive.
Hive mind
technology,
internet
singularity.
Pecking order,
dies!
Power
homogenized!
Odatella be otis, ye bellos i am not infantile villain odeeon me
Sake it Salem, be clivas, be yet homage as the lord he be
Ground it taken whore impeded the cleist is now a witch it asked o’ parish
Be now die i shan’t mediocre is now corner shaft it bone in he’s body she has villeous Corbett
Be lous loud i sought burn it in mywife love it howreckless loud horn bushes
Baste oh me my own child taken be ritual me justified judgement be nile
My father is yet be sole i chastise is the devil he rebuke my lionsi hidhelpit major
Feeble teaseasahusbandry ofthe cleistme hasten e’ is nowmy killer
Shutupwomanhebe a man of itdesignsoftheheralry be mine i justify me thedevil
Seeknotjustrewardsawomanbeancalde he made she billhe as witches sorcerers be yes silus he abade me ow Salem is philadelpha me you hottest hostissexist me dco me youst yeast itmade e’bread me youster is babe
We me do aliaricanbe witchawomen icastdonolonger is enmade
Then comes the call of the witch named Kabbath,
That signals the start of All Hollow's Black Sabbath.
And, from the dark crypts and the blackest of holes;
Come the night creatures, as the Midnight Bell Tolls
Come Goblins and ghoulies, black creatures all hassled.
Come the fiends of the night that haunt the High Castle.
To the cemetery fields where the undead lay waiting
For the black orgy to begin their unholy mating.
Witches, black sorcerers, and warlocks all
Dance to the wind at this black magic ball.
Their music the cry of ten million lost souls;
All hither they come as the Midnight Bell Tolls.
All gathered at last, at this darkest of hours.
To wait for the sign of Satan's great power.
That'll send them in search all over the world,
To capture the souls of ye boys and ye girls.
So, let this be a warning this Halloween night
And pay heed to thy parents, they know what is right.
Though you search for sweet treats, wherever you stroll.
Be safe in your beds, when the Midnight Bell Tolls.
Naked on the inside where the shades of light can't hide you and you think you're fully clothed and getting ready for the ball, but the change that you've defended in the beer halls and the markets mark you down as a pretender to the throne, being thrown into the lions den is what you've always wanted, testing faith against the beasts lurking underneath the darkness.
but show your rounded breasts to Facebook and they'll not think you a Madonna, more a harlot from the other side of town, just a case of many standards and they don't know when to fly one and the one that they have chosen doesn't match the colours in my eyes.
I don't and never have despised the inquisition, lies are smoke screens held to daydreams 'til it all goes wrong.
Friday and my mind undresses
it's dark and no one sees
but the genie in the bedroom.
If you're listening in panavision and
you remember Gerry Anderson then
welcome to the old school on the high
street class reunion.
It's only magic darling
said
the sorcerers apprentice
and
that was that.
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