From frost-rimed skies the night unseals A tongue of ash beneath iron moons, The bellied earth exhales malignance, Roots writhe like fingers through tombed runes. I taste the salt of wasted prayers, The rust of faith decayed to bone; A crown of thorns in blackened glare, I kneel, unmade, before the throne.
We rise from rot, from the marrow's rust, Children of the unmothered night, Bound by the sepulchral covenant, To kneel, to rend, to feed the blight.
Candles drip the tar of ages, Faces bloom in the pallid smoke; Language of sulphur, ink of sages, Keys of bone and a throat that broke. A sigil crawls upon my palms, A map to the serrated deep; The stars conspire, the old world calms, Its sleep is torn, its mind to keep.
Ritual Whisper the names with blackened breath, Each syllable a splintered gate, The air condenses, thick with death, The pulse of the earth irregular, late. Hands peel the sky tendons unspool, Night vomits constellations unheard; A crownless king, a bleeding spool, The universe remembers the word.
Enter where the lost bones drum, Enter; do not ask for dawn. The soil remembers every tongue, And feeds the seed you planted wrong."
Something with too many faces smiles Behind my ribs, a parasite of glass; It counts my hours in jagged miles, A tyrant made to outlast. Its laughter is the clink of chains, Its lullaby a grinder's song; I sell my name to graveyard veins, To walk the corridor of wrong.
The choir snaps like brittle faith, Glass hymns in the cathedral of frost; We barter eyes for a darker wraith, And drown the dawn in a blackened cost.
A mirror smiles its carnivorous face, Reflects the worm at my amused throat; The world distorts in a holy place, The psalm becomes a razor's note. What grew beneath my tongue is truth, What grew beneath my nails is law; I sip the milk of withered youth, And wake the altars with a maw.
Descent Deeper Past thresholds braided with screaming silk, Past bells that toll in bone and rust, We break the sky like lacquered milk, And leave the living to their dust. Each step a cathedral of brittle frost.
Rooms fold into the cavity of stars, Time peels like paper from dead hands; A chorus of drowned, a choir of scars, We walk the seam where the silence lands. The light becomes a leeching thing, The moon a lacerated coin; We press our palms to the emperor's ring, And hear the rotten throne anoint.
We rise from rot, from the marrow's rust, Cast in the sepulchral rite, Bound by a covenant of frost and dust, We are the hunger that gnaws the light. We rise, we rend, we feed the blight, We are the scream when the clock unbinds, Sepulchral covenant we crown the night, And bury the last of the kind.
Let the world be quieted to a bone-soft hush, Let the stars be guttered lanterns in the mire; Seal your name in the book of hush, And let the coven of sleep expire. There is no dawn in the country of the bent, Only the slow, exacting testament.
Remember us by the absence of warmth
Heathen_AJ
