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Stygian workshop

Stygian workshop - poetry, poetry readings, альтернативнаяпоэзия, mythology, inspiration

Bestowed to meet thou, dear guest, so,

Thy experience’s fettered to betray,

Be prophecy-pursue to pulse the other gate,

If thou trudge thy vice to confess,

If penetrate its prudent root, come by.

How treacherous mortality may be!

Thou crumbling mintage of flesh and bone,

Laments and exclusions, impulsions and distortions.

Accusing others and being blamed,

Try to get along this pandemonium in flames.


If this battle dagger’s rotten in preoccupation,

Collide thy liberations in alienation

Of flesh domination over loftiness of blood,

Sit, don’t worry ‘bout souls forlorn fed,

Shielded with greed, born ‘lready dead.

Flesh desires screw’em on scrape rim,

Waiting for judgement, hoping for redeem,

To spurt souls into Charon’s tempest boat

On spurting alive, cursing the dead road,

So over-hasty on, so cruel overboard.


Not thinkest why a succubus creeping so poetic,

A human, violating creepingly, so horrific?

Touch from whom get scared: ephemeral demon step,

Discernible human swat pared in hap?

Golden with what get valued: wisdom-rooted oak,

With-oath frail scaled stone?

But my hint: don’t be a soul emptied of esteem,

To bury blindness in higher ground, hailed war on materialism.

So, enter the first chamber goldened and valued,

Follow a mythic demon to inquire demons you live next.


Dim crimson glim shed upon room in temple,

Candles denude tapestries of mistakes thickened.

Thou think flowery passage soften th’ visage of ethos,

Only Devil stain creation slipped in th’ sixth day mist.

But under hands of Lord hellkites covered,

Pray captured in underline of sin hovered.

Ov’r trails to abrade, confessions to weaken

In adyt cared for th’ good, shielded th’ wicked.

Afore listen to vermins’ testimony,

Behold demons scrambling to God, cursed evil.


Th’ first I saw yearning for flesh,

Turgid eyes searched for sense,

Tearing arms - for wash stand.

I stayed in shade. Versute, crave?

Vultures bellyfeel my presence.

Or confuse it with reflexion.

Not swirling through despair or stoutness,

I punish without leaving antecedent.

In sooth he embound his figure bent in sin ulcer,

Words vicarious in screams: “Thou made me do this!”


For ponce so devious divide lifetime into chess-boards,

Devouring kings and queens to blast ahead.

Human chisel masterly temptation motive,

But what thou knowst ’bout essence,

Plunging miscreant in position of confessor,

Splodging prayer with spire of intentions.

My sufferer spiraled his minds in stabs

To get along with skin invaded to-strain scraped atman.

And he screamed at shadow spilled over th’ wall,

Staring at th’ frame of covered mirror.

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