Dreaming Above the Sepulcher

All hymns are hollow, unheard outside the gate of in-between and unbeknown fall
like wounded birds from the heavens back unto the supplicant
Thus I slumber upon the threshold of death and dream the dreams of gods
It is here that I have sung my hymns into the mouths of the dead,
that they may not rise but fall down and down through the chambers of slumber
and unto the darkness of death’s ingress
Lamentation and evocations in the same cadence, resounding like the songs of
Thessalian witches
And with bones snatched from the maws of ravening dogs I have mocked the
cathedral"s mason, constructing an ill house of darkness mirrored within the
birdless lake, a black mansion of dreaming Night Within these dolente lands
where the Incubi abound, I have chased the children of the psalm-singers from
cyprus to tomb and jugulated them one by one
In my visions I have spilled the haimakuria within graven trenches dug by my
nails from cemetery marle
I would dare to do more
I would will to go further
I would sit opposite the Lord of Slumber, face down turned to gaze upon the
cascading abyss
I would hear truths unspoken and un-scribed within silence
I would place death"s crown upon my head and intone my will in a tongue of
stygian threnodies, with cacophonous and mournful wails upon nightmare choruses
of dying lepers falling before their graves
I would draw the gaze of my daemon self upon myself that I may murder myself
and become my daemon, and move ever closer towards the incalculable totality of
the great darkness that is the supreme