Veil Obscura

There are other worlds out there,
Alien and shadowy,
Full of miscreations,
Manticores and ghouls and chimeras,
Full of hunger,

Only a thin veil keeps them at bay,
A glass screen between the realms,
A blurry fortification,
A monochrome stained glass window we all push on,
Man doesn’t gently caress the wall,

Indeed man bashes against it incessantly,
Tempting fate and monsters,
As if galvanising our own slaughter,
Each crack in the veil is a dinner bell,
A welcoming call to the trough of this world.

Runic Heart

My heart is covered in sorcerous runes,
Umpteen symbols of every angle and shape,
What once was cold stone is now a piece of art,
Pictographs from my paramour,
These are no mere artifacts,

A line there,
A triangle over here,
Right angle betwixt obtuse,
They have enchanted me,
Filled these cold canals with vitae,

Etched by kindly scalpel,
Well-meaning but mangling nonetheless,
Damaged by loves embrace,
Yet somehow improved,
Made better by her prescence,

I was a clay golem once,
But this runic magic has granted me a pulse,
Ensorcelled these limbs to waltz and jig,
She did this,
Brought me to life.

Valentine

I often gaze at you,
When you’re not looking,
A cute little game,
Just to admire your profile,
Possessed of a fae beauty,
An innocence denied by yourself,

You’ve cast a spell upon me,
A strange conjuration,
Etched a rune into my heart,
I’ve felt an earthquake within my being,
Amorous fireballs in my chest,
Thunderstorms stirring my heart rate to elation,

It’s a pleasant warmth,
A magic of belonging,
Are you a sorceress?
A wicce?
I don’t want this ritual to be dispelled,
If I’m enthralled so be it,

I love you.

The Summoner

In a realm birthed by crystals,
A world beyond the fantastic,
Governed by magick and beings of eld,
Where life is threatened oftentimes by demon and beast alike,
And the cruel darkness thirsts for souls,

Here fight warriors of no martial proclivity,
No axes or blades in hand,
But command respect nevertheless,
For they wield an ancient power,
A magic of primal energy,

A gesture of arcane will,
And a seized fragment of godly power,
These summoners can call down the very fires of hell,
Raise up the fury of the earth you walk,
And rend asunder foes with gales blades,

These forces come from elemental ire,
Passions from gods of fire and storm,
Restrained and wielded by these magi in green regalia,
Heroes who bring the elements to bear against darkness,
For the good of Eorzea.

Cauldron-Born

A child of demonology,
They told me how I was made,
By that blasted coven,
Possessed of dark magic and darker intents,
I was spawned by no natural means,
Formed by ritual in lieu of conception,

Dragged from the abyss,
From that infernal bubbling womb,
Scratching at the cast iron feebly,
The cold skin of this cauldron,
Contrasting against my seared ruby skin,
A mere fell homunculus,

Into that vessel they allotted great labour and pain,
Poisonous herbs of all shades and temperaments,
Liquid spite in floods,
Pigs hearts and crows eyes,
Galvanising the broth to rouse sorcerous nascency,
Magic to beget my fiendish form,

Why sire such an abomination?
Why bring evil to life?
For its own sake they told me,
I have no inherent goal,
No good reason to exist,
For I am cauldron-born.

Mandrake

It’s finally supper time,
Our nightly ritual,
The victims are already at the trough,
But I’m missing a vital component,
The broth is incomplete,
This little mandrake,
It’s just the ticket,

This earthy fruit of foulness,
It will sent them careening into fantasy,
A final dream for the little souls,
Hallucinogens to cleanse the pallette,
Before the poison does its deed,
This heathenry,
It shall be akin to sorcery,

Into the soup you go,
Keep it quiet now,
My little botanical homunculus,
Dont reveal yourself to them,
You may appear infantile,
A parody of a child,
But you’re a monster tonight.

Dissecting A Demon

I slew this demon,
By my own rageful hand,
Within the swamp of a stuporous night,
To study its vile anatomy,
Work out why devils play the way they do,

This scalpel shall cut hotter,
Than any inferno of hell,
Such is my conviction,
I feel the arcana swirl about this cadaver,
This is the one,

As I make my initial incision,
A cloying ooze of sins drips out,
Infantile shrieks as it hits the floor,
Why continue to bear such filth?
I bottle it up for further inquisition,

Prepare the rib-spreader,
Let’s see this things core,
Stinking heat emanates like breath,
Yet only a void hides behind ribs,
These beings have no heart,

Saw the skull past the jagged horns,
Expose the mind of evil,
How does devilry conduct its plans?
The neurons pass only sick ideas betwixt,
It holds naught but the stench of malice,

So what have we learned?
Devils will always be devils,
Evil will always be evil,
It is intrinsic to their souls being,
It is proven,
If you witness malevolence within a man,
Just remember it is root and stem.

I See Astrology

I once had a dream,
An esoteric dance of the mind,
A story of astrological language,
I made a raft out of fingernails,
Crafted by strength of Taurus,
With the helping hand of a ram of course,
Upon cautious and melancholic stone,
To skirt a blue sea of pisces scales,

For miles I voyaged,
Waters of empathy,
Drifting upon balanced winds of Libra,
Winds of expression,
Dodging ornery waves of piscine goats,
Sent by the aquatic bearer of divinity Aquarius,
I escape by the skin of my teeth,
I disembark above Cancer rockpools,

To be greeted by conjoined twin dockhands,
Eager to assist,
Onward to bend the knee to a lion king,
And his assertive fiery mane,
His scorpion royal guard eye me suspiciously,
Barbed halberds at hand,
His equine archers nock arrows in caution,
Tension grew like noxious clouds,

When it seemed their patience had run thin,
The hand of his princess out cast,
Her name Virgo,
The other stars faded,
An embrace commenced,
But then I awoke,
And the stars were gone,
Only sunrise remained.

Witch Totem

I once dreamed of a forest,
A place I was drawn to wander,
There was a sweet perfume of witchcraft,
A fantasy,
Or a nightmare,
It was hard to tell,

Ghostly groves,
And dead branches charred by mana,
A godless arboretum,
A land bereft of deities,
Even the sun seemed timid,
Overcast through the gnarled boughs,

A witch resides here,
Or so i’ve heard,
And I believe the tales,
I spy her totems,
Omens to intruders like me,
Mandrake and hemlock,

Bones of vermin,
And dead sticks,
Affixed with aged catgut,
Into a crooked symbol,
Icons of her sorcery,
They hum with ancient words,

The sun flees,
The trees grow silent,
The atmosphere closes ranks,
I felt a cold hand on my shoulder,
And gelid breath upon my ear.

Cultist

I’m a cult of one,
An acolyte of the written word,
Cloaked in a dressing gown robe,
I sit at this altar,
This writing desk,
My sacrificial pen in my clutches,

I begin the ritual,
My bloodshot mind’s eye,
Calls to dark places,
This page is the sacrifice,
To the voices between worlds,
The leaden weight of baneful gods,

By the end,
I am all sweat and aches,
The ritual is complete,
The words are on the damned page,
Creative aether,
Madness in letters.