The Summoning

By Jan Weber

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From fathomless, endlessly dark and bottomless caverns
Where the fevered sigh of rebirth and creation issues forth hope yet despair
Rushed forth, as a thousand daggers, unite, into the gradual formation of baying and howling gales
Echoing, reverberating, lashing, whipping into formless, breathless winds
That envelop the cold pale shivering tender flesh of a ghoul forlorn to Time lost, removed from eternity and without course that follows no star
The frigid chill seizing upon atrophied veins, the ruptured capillaries of, bosom clenched, and mind
Screeching, emblazoned with the rage of centuries of drunken hedonic slumber
Tense at the very sound of a moments change, of a sliver of the light of hope from the past
Again, echoing, reverberating in the hollowed chasms and foulest pits of Hell
Where the Devil and his Demon brethren, breed in a perpetuity of darkness, avarice, and lust, Sin
But in those deepest and darkest depths, yet to be uncovered and plundered
Lies the ancient sealed crystal, shining with utter brilliance
Fortified with the knowledge gathered since the birth of the World
Carved and sharped from the hardest and most resilient of antediluvian materials
Into the protective blades, shields, arms and armors
That will rend and severe that beast oh so foul
From the consciousness of Man so that we may return to the womb trees of our birthing

There was once the time, at once
Where I glimpsed what I had thought was my Fate
Dealt cruelly from Death’s hand, complete eradication
On the cusp of the blood red wine overflowing
Tarnished silver chalice filled with crimson ichor, ancient and decayed
Stained in the prints of foreign slaves given the rule of masters
As the world around me, once blossoming from the seeds of hereditary past
Now falls from the deep jugular wound, drop after drop spilt
Split as tears shed and fallen upon the altar of masochistic self-sacrifice
The body of our birth collapsing under the weight of murderous, barbarous, malicious intent
From aliens unknown

I alone knew that
My own soul, wracked by the poisoned tendrils of Anti-Virtue
My mind, seized in paralyzing spams of Fear and Rage
My heart, succumbed to the whims of Hades and Destruction
Would burst as the opened artery flooded the chambers of the brain, in its last call for life
And that fetid nocturnal pulse which has raked through subtle tissues
With the dagger-like blood-stained nails of Chaos and Desire
False Shame, enforced Self-loathing, run amok and unchecked

I could feel that diabolic pulse of Death
Beating as the haunted drums from the very jungles as our destructors arrive whence
As they possessed this soul fleeting cadaver with a 1,000 sun burning intensity
For survival and self-preservation
As if called forth from the lamenting choirs of dead ancestors
Yet was I animated to action by such Desire
Fallen from heaven as Lucifer, the mourning-star, the light that had shone
Through all of the deepest and darkest of depthless fathoms,
A sibilant Echo, caress of Grace, strength in Unity,
Where in God and Time,
one Dead, the other Frozen in the Fading of an Instant,
Had shown me that I would and indeed have received
What I have so deeply languished for, the complete and utter Rapture
Of the Heart and Soul in the presence of what I once and first thought to be a phantom,
But proved to me to be the blinding Radiance of the fairest of star,
One which Resurrected me from
Grave, Coffin and Funeral Pall

FROM NOTHING COMES ALL ABUNDANCE & ALL RETURNS TO NOTHING unless FORGED AND IMPROVED THROUGH SUFFERING PERSEVERANCE CONTEMPLATION and FORE-THOUGHT

OUR FORE-BEARERS KNEW THIS AND WE HAVE FORGOTTEN
IN THE HAZE OF DRUNKEN HUBRIS AND FALSE GUILT


The struggle to grant mineself the Will and Strength, Beauty
To return to the World of the Living
Where the Hollow and Thirst-starved Vampires
with hearts of Blackened Emptiness reign
Where they reap the Sorrow of Human Tears and Suffering
It is as if they are sustained on Mine Alone!
Alas, such is the Fate of one that is so Fallen into the Depths of Loathing and Trepidation
Yet, at a Moment, an Instant
I was Graced by the Divine Hand of Venus herself, wreathed in the Cloak of Artemis
but with the Temperament of Janus, Twins, of a Dual Nature where the Forces
Prometheus’s Fire raging on the Olympian mount
Has struck the Flint against Wood, Blood against Steel, flamed, passion blazed
Into a violent and raging intensity that rivals Zeus’s own anger

The wound is deep and long, across the breast, pelvis and jugular
And it gushes forth with the crimson black blood of a wound, deepest of all
Struck by the most fatal of self-inflicted blows
Given it to forgetfulness
Necrotization and rot seep in
And eradicate the vital force that animates the entire system
Yet with the panacea, the potion that would intoxicate it
To revivification into the realm of wakefulness
It shall be granted purity and regain its footing on the path towards virtue and humility
Yet, such a fragile creature as the one that God would snuff in the blink of an eye
Shall ye know that ye will forgo those that have thought to raise you
In the manner of the image of their own slave
While rending your will with their parasite tendrils
That only cause enslavement and destruction
We fear it, we know it in our blood, our DNA
That without the hope of the future to shake the shackles of serfdom
We are determined to the path of suffering and ignorance
Little did I once know that I might understand such ideas
Or rather even entertain them
For they are foreign in the realms that currently possess us
Yet now there shall be no such conviction as resolute
As the ones once again kindled in the furnaces our incendiary breasts
Laugh for there is no hope but the comedy for the fool
For alone he sees and seeks the truth through the placation of and through jest
Join in the mockery and ridicule of the radical revelations
Of that which seeks to destroy the good
Destroy the foundation of our birth
Break down whatever resistance and defenses that are to be had
And they will not fail to perseverance in their abominable creations
As the slumbering eyelids of the beast
Drugged heavy with the sedation of vice and immorality
And within those pupils, deep eyes of azure
Is resurrected an insurmountable rage
They shoot open, blood-stricken and violently red
Filled deep with the life essence and agony memory of ancestors awoken
Once thought long lost in an opioid dream

I SEE DEATH & HE GREATS ME WELL, BUT I SHALL RESIST THE BECKING CALL OF THE LORD OF MISFORTUNE AND PLUNDER

Rising from the ashes as the most vengeful of all phoenixes
Wreathed in the tattered ashes of storm clouds
Soot of civilizations undone
Shook from the foundations of the dusty sand bitten earth formation
From the smoldering breast of the furnace, patron of man and industry, Hephaestus
whose hammer once stricken to the molten iron and carbon core of industry
the pit of a blacksmith, where all ideas and creations are crafted, shaped, molded
A place, where once thought extinguished
Now has been the source of the re-ignition of the flame of all Creation,
wreathed in the fevered passions that once believed lost
forlorn and removed to Eternity
bursting forth in violent adulation to the source of resurrection
from whence I came, blackest darkest and most vile pits of Hell
yet the only recourse is the Necromantic Arts
that has revived souls past
Those very pits where the devils of the darkest fears, pain
Forged in the fires of the Cerberus’s breath
where within all anguish writhes and pluses in choruses
courses through the blood trapping vessels, into the caverns of the mind
which contains the fragile forgotten moments, and wild unchecked impulses
in Time, and out of, Forever frozen

Deep and eternal was the black misty night, for no star has shown itself,
The rain was falling hard, but was transparent
as the Ghost of Love and Creation, but only that creation of feeling of the utmost
Radiance, through all the
filth, decay, hatred, torture, longing, fear, violence, and hurt
now severed clear with the blinding and radiant light of Athena
who bears all arms towards those against her and wish Her harm
With Wisdom in head and hand
She, who is the softest, yet most resilient, of Goddesses

WAR AND WISDOM, FOR THE TACTICS OF WAR SPRING LIKE A FOUNT
FROM THE PROTECTORATE OF WISDOM AND EXPERIENCE


I who throw himself under the Eternal beating of Her war drums
To sacrifice the material for Psychic and Spiritual powers

WISDOM AND WAR

Her powers that revel still now in the mind and the breast
Sharp and Sturdy is the alloy
that forges the spears that pierce deep to the core
of truth wisdom knowledge, where love was born bare
on the ragged shores trampled
on the waste that is the refuse of barbarians hordes
who ravage the object of our production, our desire
Of our intelligence, our destiny
where we are made captive, as slaves in the arms of love of vice
by the ones who would blame us as masters
yet we are forever succumb to their fiendish desires

We have given you the Gift
Now use it
Yet always
they know that We, in our moment of weakness, and charity
cannot fail to defend from the most fatal of blows
And this is their greatest Fear
As the warriors of Odin’s day, Raven’s caw
Half blind in union of strength of wisdom, fielty, honor, courage, WISDOM
we shall rise once more into the glory of battle, arm in arm, breast locked
in brotherhood, berserk, in a rage, break the seal and all kindness forgotten
even if the ones that gain enjoyment, peace and pleasure from our Deaths
with our sacrifice, will think themselves right and true
we shall right ourselves onto the path towards virtue once more

As the forward foot towards our shared celestial destiny, that we
through the knowledge passed through our blood
passed down through the ages, treads the ground
bare as the foot of a naïve child
requite in sin
we find the suffering stabbing sickness of a bubonic thorn
and through the illness that possess us, we, instead of recoiling in horror
and honoring the passing of the pain towards the preventing of future pain
wallow in it as the most fiendish of vices

WE BLAME OURSELVES FOR NOTHING THAT WE HAVE DONE GIVEN ALL

Wherein there lies all the wickedness and destruction of our souls
it is not our past that we lament
but the fading of understanding and foresight passed down since time immemorial

WE KNOW THIS

and yet we avert our eyes from the future that has been built for us
for the sake of pleasing those that wish our destruction
Brothers, we know our call, from the hallowed and lamenting voices of our past,
Show us now the thunder in the form of action over words
For the time for words has long passed

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Jan Weber

is one name among many used by a mysterious writer, musician, philosopher, teacher, student, Lutheran, and truth seeker.