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O listen, listen to Cyprissus cry,

In the dark shadows of a nearby pine.

And catch his pined hymn,

In a tuneless, timeless rhythm.

Crocus, O Beautiful flower, naked,

Enamoured of the fair Nymph Smilax,

Shepherdess to many impatient whims,

Now metamorphosed as the sad guardian,

The Yew, gracious, tall and still.

O Heavenly constellation, Ariadne,

Now crowned as Gnossia, bejewelled,

By the wine-stained hand of Bacchus.

Queen with your sparkling gown,

Glowing from its darkest crown.

Eternity rolls on a jagged course,

Mapped so none can see alone.

Yet walk on the road of immortality,

Always awake on the verge, the abyss,

The edge of some dark eternity.

Fate holds the key to our luck,

By which we manakins are locked.

Death is the fountain of Histiaeotis,

Whose waters render black plague,

To all who, must drink to attain grace.

Immortality withered on the boughs,

The boughs of shivering green oaks, piled.

Marsyas the piper's death, was lamented,

Fauns, Satyrs, and Dryads wept at his fate,

Their abundant tears, arose, a flowing grave.

The wet mist rose from the riverside,

Only to roll over hedges, growing wild.

The fog showed its deceitful pride,

Swallowing all in its wake, ever so quiet,

The chattering warblers lost their tunes to cry.

Gaea watches the day unfold,

Only to scatter her tattered robe,

Upon the barren earthen floor.

The tattered coloured robe hides the ravishes,

Of Hellespontias, Brontes, Steropes, and Arges.

The Goddess Hera, renews her virginity,

As she bathes at the Canathus Spring.

Meanwhile Nauplius debauched the Wives of Troy,

In revenge at the unjust sacrifice, stoning

Of his beloved Son, Palamedes.

No laurels drenched in virginal gold,

But dipped in black blood of injustice.

Crown now the distorted memory of War,

The virtues of men that draw the law,

Now stand, pursued by eternal infamy.

Charge not Heroes, long buried, past,

Hallowed hearts still with fire.

Vainglorious flags fly over barren lands,

Soldiers in the service of their Lords,

Thankless waste, abroad, buried in mass.

Greedy seraphs feed from human sap,

A world in arms, empty amid the darkness.

Sacred blessings frown from the heavens,

Prophecy and divine truth, stand cold,

Now negligently sought as souls.

That men may give to higher things,

Across a flood of stormy thoughts.

Feelings must usurp the heart of reason.

Faith isn't the humility of life,

But a song of season for a god.

Adorning him as a Maker of life,

Is to pitch man against an invisible hand.

Praying to him for forgiveness of his whims,

Is to strip us of our will, only to be enslaved,

Enslaved to, to imaginary sins.

A word from God, letters and deeds,

Suffers from Man's unquestioned will.

Faith unfold, belief unknown, deceit,

Chaos order, rose from eternal sleep,

Light is darkness, death is but a dream.

Blithe Cupid, as love itself, proves,

Childish diversions, throwing a quoit.

Debauchery with a naked Nymph,

While Chaos gave birth to men,

Blood stained their outer skins.

The true Gods were liars,

Murderers, dissemblers, Rapists and thieves,

Drunkards who binged as Cannibals,

Christians at nefarious feast,

Drunk on Human waste and morality.

Look at the frightened shadows,

How they obscure the long night.

Life performs a birth as light,

But not as a gift of the Gods,

Instead lurks as love lost in twilight.

Ha! Entangled weeds devours Olympia,

Mountains no longer tremble between nations.

Death devours Men as lawless prey,

While Man makes slaves of wild beasts,

Beasts seek mercy from our wounded hearts.

Narcissus sits and reflects upon his imperfections,

Like us, subservient to our outward perfections,

And fed-off our extravagant pleasures.

We repose on the brim of a fountain,

Whose waters awaken tender sentiments.

Enslaved to lust, as an enticing juice,

Eros surrenders to the flattering whim.

Passion by decrees, opens a chasm, wide,

Folly rushes, with the moon tide, sway,

And a thousand lies creep from the soul.

But every tear used as a sword to stab,

Tores open the mortal breast.

Not so the pleasure of sweet desire,

Sordid bargain from arrogant Men,

Seduced a friend, wronged a Belle.

Ye shall hear much ancient lore,

To mortify and feed a hungry flesh.

Malice pride rewards your prayers and rest,

Poets attend with pad and pen,

Others throw woes away to weep alone.

Was glory built on selfish shame and guilt?

Corrupted Man's principles, Divine scruples within.

Bring down the ageing Heroes monoliths,

Diseased stones that gathers histories dust,

Rusted mummies eaten away by empty words.

Man's arrogance, fierce pride, bestows war,

On justices side, duty bound, misplaced lies.

Gods bestows on stout hearts, heroic deeds,

With promises of eternal life, a slave,

A pimp to mythology, ambition, wasted days.

Grim Reaper yields the scythe as his power,

Mowing and reaping into the crowd.

With a long thin curved blade,

Blood runs down into earthen graves,

Penetrating as far as the realms of Hades.

Pity the fickle Heroes, who the Gods wait upon,

Waiters in servility, sarcasm's flows from a cup.

Virtues they wear at forbidden dares,

Flatterers bow and scrape on supple knees,

Life awakens from a surreal scream.

The Poet Laureate, a knave, a dunce, a fool,

A majestic clown, a monarch's stooge.

With tuneless words, uninspired Muse,

Empty rhymes, and themes, less sublime,

Happy baboons, as he struts around the room.

Beneath the flowery gardens shades,

Listen to the tinkling haunted chimes.

Bacchanalian orgies can be had,

Inexperienced youth has its charms,

Dangerous puppets, dangling, manipulated cads.

Noble deeds ensure in a dirty world,

Should never be bottled and rubbed,

Hippocrene and Holiness never mix,

Muses love on consecrated ground,

Gods on Olympia will provide the feast and song.

Justice is clothed in destitute and shame,

In every bosom lurks prostitution and blame.

Gratitude stands naked at close doors,

While inhospitable piety is starved by honest chores.

Virtue has no place in your love, or lore.

Cold passion is used to quench the fire,

Moral hunger is a combustion of desire.

Innocent youth suck a different air,

Pleasure and lust are relishes to bare,

Greed and envy are a quarrelsome pair.

Children raised in tender love,

Seldom rove, run wild or feel alone.

Spontaneous love, are qualities that sow,

Your earliest years are labyrinths that grow,

Memories are records that carry the glow.

Messenger of sadness, Serpent without pride,

Truth is bitter; faith comes from the loftiest cry.

Yet beams of golden rectitude shine bright,

Virtue on broken wings can fly,

On borrowed time, youthful discretions, crimes.

God is no beauty even on sight,

The books of Laws are fables and lies.

Fictitious intellects and holy impostors, lay,

They built an industrial temple on clay,

A human folly on the deceit of Man's decay.

Erato in sorrow, is a sight to behold,

Men murder, only to mourn alone.

Ignorance is a never-ending woe,

Weep not for the Muse, shed no tears,

For the loss of Mankind's empty soul.

Crowned with roses and sweet myrtle,

O myrtle sweet myrtle I lay aroused,

My head in swaddles of evergreen leaves,

Perfume floats from its white fragrant flowers,

As I lay in rapture upon the clouds.

Accuse God of a hideous crime,

Its stupidity reaches beyond darker times.

Man's deepest fears of the struggling unknown,

Marshalling all his horrors he restores,

Gods lie beneath the nearest flaming mountain stove.

Philosophy seen through many naked eyes,

Seems clear through the embroidery of the mind.

Gods aren't true, truth aren't God's tools,

His millenniums of glory is fading and despised,

Gods won't resurrect, to start another Paradise.

Angels in the supreme servitude of God,

Gods in the suppose servitude of Man.

Holy Men in the presence of fickleness truth,

Purchasing souls to step-up for the prize,

Avarice and Envy were twins, hatched by a loveless Dawn.

In the distant beginning, to the roar of thunder,

Nature rose from a violent dream.

And birth was given to earth amid her screams.

Blue heavens above, fair skies beneath,

Darkness and light were opposites, in search of beasts.

Life was found among primordial slime,

And breastfed by mineral waters, warm with heat.

In time Man crawled from a bayou,

Clothed by a harsh sun, shaded by a cool breeze,

Fed by the wild colourful streams.

Error and mirrors occupied a place,

While Man grew arrogant with age.

Lorded over all he surveyed.

Devoured other beasts at haste,

Proving that they were smarter than Apes.

Paradise was rich in motley forms of life,

Fed by this same primordial slime.

Man's hunger is lust, passion and rapists desires,

Feed from trees, fornicates with wild life,

Procreation comes like any other crime.

Life lost in the pursuit of a God, or Gods,

Peter cries, what apocalyptical snuff.

The grand prize of Christ, Satan despised,

Evil dispensed from the darkness below,

Goodness is heaven's intent, absurdest stuff.

But reality has no heaven,

Neither colour nor truth, nor age.

Instead we have our Paradise,

With hues and woes.

To fill the dull void rattling at the doors.

Death is a vulgarity, by which we share,

But is life so tediously the same.

Empty vessels to fill with emptiness,

Aimless sorrow with every breath,

Useless wisdom across the ages.

O the dream of an immortal garden,

Filled with fragrant flowers and love.

A place free of shadowy shades and hurt,

Beams of light bloom from the flowers below,

While golden rays adorn the proud forever green oaks.

Out of the fires of feeling, is love born,

Out of the passions of reasoning, thus rides Hope.

From Vanity is an emptiness, a craving soul,

In immense abyss, lives happiness and woes,

Mourners with the black narcissus weep, amid the murmurs.

Bliss is prostitution and love, loves bought and sold,

By mercenaries, peddling their whores.

Now settle a prize, a price upon the tarts,

Unwilling heart, shares a generous part,

Amid the strife, rebound across the mouldering walls.

A seed is planted into a hollow mould of dust,

And tears of nature guide it thus.

It grows in silence, without fear but trust,

If nature is merciful, and the sun is just,

It sprouts so strong only to sleep at dusk.

Steal a little of the light of twilight,

The beams that bestows a bit of delight.

Let horrors here be quiet, silently unknown,

Yet truth is remote, veiled as an imaginary joke,

Ignorance binds, blinds unforgiving minds.

Hear a whisper, let's -forgive, forget,

Pay mute attention as you recline your head.

Happy is the Poet, who informs the brittle mind,

Loosens the clutter, mends the broken lines.

Plain simple language, plain simple truth to admire.

Tribes unconfined via a social plan,

Families abandoned via clan to clan.

Lands of Law, different Races, Religious binds,

Social Injustice, Rights of Man.

Ignored by the many, sacred to the few.

Games to the God 'Consus'. To celebrate rape,

An orgy performed in full, circus glare.

Cursed are the stones that held this lot,

This lot of bleating jocks regales in shame,

The fearful prey, trapped in a disclosure of despair.

Man ventures on this unhappy train,

The Goddess of all debauchery comes but to play.

Colourful boughs hung with sweet cakes and ripen fruits,

Cotytto's debauchery and wantonness prevail,

Happiness like the abundant harvest, is exquisitely rare.

Sex quenches the thirst of youth in bonded lace,

Love as charity is replenished with haste.

Requiem for the body in fallen decay,

Passion strokes the dormant fires in rage,

While youth pours a torrent of sweet kisses astray.

A broken heart lays in ruins by ruffians,

Ghostly riders plead innocent with virginal blood.

While children born in folds of smouldering shame,

Seek solace in a clutter of dreams and despair.

Men honoured as wolves, shed their Christian names.

O deep sadness, portrayed as a canvas unfurled,

A mulch of colours in various shades of woes.

Pain wrapped as a scarf around a silent neck,

Sorrow's opulent climb on a naked smile,

Yet happiness is trampled on a grave of troubles.

Who is he to fall without a blemish or stain?

A love divided has to be paid, in grief of silence.

The foulest deeds has its price in silent greed,

With tears of pity spreadover the empty day,

Hollow amid bitter emotions lay to waste.