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no. 4: A Great Wind
by b.e. rise
friends, listen and hear of the gift
bestowed upon me by the muse.
for,
by my third Eye
I was lifted on Alluvion wings
and borne over
the vastness
of a Wasteland where
the Land bares its fossilized fangs
slashing atmospheres
the earth's molars chew the clouds
looking down on the aerial symbols
left by Ancients
displayed to the spirits of the Air
-sacred patterns
that anchor and pivot
the universe
I forced myself to drink extreme quantities
of the poison Liquors of the desert,
and lo, My anger and indignance increased
towards all those I felt had abandoned me
I wished myself an astroman,
My rockets jetting the aethyr,
running from sun to sun
- a voyager on a speedway
across the starless void
of genesis Night
Crashing like Thunderbirds,
rising like Phoenicians
in the lair of the Scorpion,
All the Prophets were witness
and under their aegis
I traversed the depths of Avernus
and emerged in an arena of Souls
filled with Host upon beauteous Host
There,
I conversed with the risen Ancients
and wore
the Robe of Glory
My three Eurydices
nay one, brother
nay two, sister
yea three, brethren
led Me from the Stygian Deep
to the base of the Mountains of the Moon
and I succumbed
to the sweet succour
of Sleep's siren song
and the lull of Lethe's tide
I awoke burnt and blasted
by the desert's Solar Winds
on the edge of a great bluff
overlooking the City of Sin
There,
I bore witness
to fantastic scenes of unparalled carnage
as the machines of Light
shot the Air full of electric veins
and transmogrified into
angry, pink neon angels of Death
who turned their baleful yellow eyes
on the plaguemines
and wrought pillars of Perdition's Flame
to scourge the obscene and Vampiristic,
the Devils of the white tiles
The polis razed,
My bones were drier than the Eureka Draw
but harken,
When all seemed lost,
the Waters came forth,
yea, and washed me
out across seas long barren
by the Age of Atlantis
Standing outside of Time
I saw the sunmakers at work
behind blanketing stratospheres,
their splendour revealed
above the trees
on the contours of a new Land
Friends,
Now, everything is on it's way to somewhere
and some people need a God sooner than others
they need a secret from which there is no exit
listening to their age in whispering rooms
But,
I cannot rest and wait until Armageddon comes
no, no, no
I can't wait on a God
if I'm a' goin' back to heaven
I must take to the eagle's wing now
straight to the shoulder of Orion
Shouting at the silver swept skies
and compose Salvation's symphony
for a great Wind is going to come
wilder than the hot Wind of Creation at my back
blasting through the canyons of the Ghostlands
with the vengeance of Pharoah
a soul cleansing gale
from the chambers of my heart
that leaves only the truth of redemption within
REJOICE