Your Eyes

Your eyes are staring at me, from the other side of the room

They're staring straight at me, to admonish, I would assume

The whites, those alluring dark irises and the pupils of hate

Seemingly wondering what happened on this dastardly date

Wish I could hide from the sight, for it's an unravelling burden

Tho' I'll settle for second best and pour myself another bourbon

But I'm sweating and shaking and there's claret everywhere

With your eyes unrelenting, although your body's not there

Can barely remember the gouging and the 'fuck and the what?'

But my fingers are bloody and I can taste the bile and the snot

Thought I was merely a witness, but it was me, I would assume

For your eyes are accusing me, from the other side of the room

Xaphan's Gone

Xaphan's gone; he'll no longer fan the flames, or blight the verdant lands
As he transcends to Earth with its poisoned seas and creeping desert sands
Perhaps one day he'll find those open minds, for nothing's clearly focused
His prophecies realised, of plague and hate and swarms of flying locusts
As silence falls, time unfurls, for it's held together with broken stitches
Nothing's forever, not faith or poets, science, or even wizened witches
'tis naught to fear though, for what will be, will always come to pass
Salvation was never any kind of option, for the ceiling's made of glass
God went first and now Xaphan's gone and it's your time to bid farewell
Or mock his failings, but you'll not send him back to a flaming pit of Hell
Now he'll await his fate, amongst the shires, afar from the plastic oceans
Eventide is where he'll dwell, with wicked witches, drinking magic potions

Dead In The Woods

Dead in the woods, he's there, but he still isn't visible
Even with his flesh now rotting, he'll always be invisible
And if anybody cared, then they probably didn't wonder
Did they turn a blind eye, as his mind was torn asunder?
Invisible in life and now he's quietly invisible in death
Not even the raven observed his exhaled last breath
The leafs of the tree do not even whisper his name
He was nothing to nobody, now there's no one to blame
Eerily creaking, a rope on a branch, of a tree, in the wood
When the raven starts creeping, then so does the blood
Oscillating in ever decreasing circles, that no one can see
Odd Mr Nobody is hanging there lifeless; there in the tree
Dead in the woods, he's there, but he still isn't visible
So who gives a damn about him now, the silent invisible?

Fathers Of Gods

Fables and tales, hyperbolic epistles, religious scriptures

Our forefathers gratuitously ordained despotic strictures...

In the beginning? Time flows in a circle without beginning or end

And it's only matter that's aeonian, despite what they've penned

For it's all about destruction and re-creation and their peculiarity

Forever reshaping the darkness of the void without a singularity

When we became 'conscious' there was ignorance without knowledge

So our forefathers sired gods and then coerced us into a faux homage

And behold! There were structures and plans and they could foretell

From Apollo to Zeus, although Mars was long dead and Venus is hell

They couldn't comprehend, so we were told to believe

In a supernatural order, of which they had to perceive

Inner sanctums of the past is where they sat down to think

And concluded that our existence must be more than a blink

We were blinded by faith and every crusade was a calamity

For we were never the children of gods, or any singularity

So there's no hope in our prayers, for worlds are destroyed

As we are left with our unrealities and our gods unemployed

In the end? Time circulates matter with new courses to wend

And from this maelstrom of mayhem we will never transcend

But all of our gods are as one and are dwelling with Aether

Their stories are old and the Almighty itself is not a believer...

By chance we are alive, with the others and what are the odds

Of us being here and still reciting the words of fathers of gods?

Witchcraft

Wicked witches and wizened, salacious succubi, cast
Insidious black spells, for their dark arts Candlemass
They gather in their coven, by the flames of his fire
Corrupt like a raven, for the devil's touch they aspire
Harlots of horror, of their lord Satan they're dreamin'
Cumming, all over them, with his searing hot semen
Raucous, is their laughter, as they worship the goat
All smeared, in his juices, as they cackle and gloat
Fucking the disgusting, for they are under his spell
The witchcraft disciples, who were all sired in Hell

The Dead See

There's a diocese where gods and science can never reach
Hope to ever know where to find, transgress or breach
Every post-life cult has already claimed this place is hallow
Death though is even beyond the paradigm of the witchcraft tarot
Even silence there will be a concept of a thought that cannot be
And nothing will be black or white, in the shades of the Dead see
Do not despair, for this place is very close; 'tis just there, yonder
Sometimes you will feel it's juxtaposed, if you choose to ponder
Every tick of the clock, as is known, is merely mortality's bait
Eternity's not for us forever, 'tis only a notion of an infinity fate

Dear Satan

Dear Satan,

Having already sent a letter to God (no reply yet) I thought that I'd also write to you, to see how the land lies between us at the moment. Perhaps sort one or two things out with you, a bit of straight talking between my demons and the devil, if you like... only kidding! Of course I realised a long time ago that what you say 'goes' and what you do... well, it's there for all to see.

Anyway, I've decided to write you a short poem, in homage to you. I hope you enjoy it!

My liege, you're pure darkness, you're the ice in my heart
You're the hate and the fear and you turn light into dark
And your hate is a beautiful rage, it's a nuclear explosion
You poison the seas and blight the land with soil erosion

My lord, you kill hope with despair and turn an eye blind
You turn water into acid and have all my demons aligned
You're a stab in the back, but always cloistered by guile
And you feed the preachers of hate with venomous bile

Dear Satan, you're the rope and the knot; the noose round my neck
And when we play cards you always pull Death from the deck
You're cunning and deceitful as you play all your devilish tricks
But you are there for me on speed dial, number six, sixty six

I know you get a lot of fan mail, but I hope you find time to read my verse of appreciation... hopefully you'll not burn it in the fires of Hell at least! Hey, don't forget that I'm the one fanning those flames and creating the thermals for that fucking vulture that's keeping a beady eye on me! I'm just saying, that's all, you know that you can rely on me.... I'm going nowhere, am I? For god sake (apologies for the blasphemy there). Just needed to get that off my chest, sorry.

Your loyal subject

Xaphan