Aeolian lamentations
An incandescence, stark and coruscating,
Fractures the stygian expanse of the eve;
A chthonic, fuliginous mass, gyrating,
To which the firmament will cleave, and grieve.
From the abraded edges, nacreous light
Does sough and burble, a cerulean plea,
For some forgotten, apocryphal rite,
In the vast anomie of a vacant sea.
The petrichor of a preterite age,
Of mouldering, antediluvian dreams,
Ascends from a necrotic, carnal stage,
In effluvial, miasmic, bilious streams.
The cicatrix of the cosmos does bloom,
A tessellated, astral-chrysalis,
Whose iridescence portends a looming doom,
And a cosmogonic, ineluctable abyss.
A susurrus, a murmur of the deep,
A perquisite for the slumbering dead,
As scions of a somnolent epoch creep
From ossuaries where forgotten prayers are said.
Each wraith, a spectral, phantasmal simulacrum,
Of a time when protoplasmic life was rife,
Now, a parched, disconsolate, spectral datum,
An ephemeral specter of a primordial strife.
The hierophant, in his gaudy, ornate motley,
Holds aloft a tarnished, brazen orb;
His plangent voice, an atavistic medley,
Which dissonant echoes from the void absorb.
He chants a litany of exigent need,
A sophistry for a tenebrous creed,
His rhetoric, a fecundating, pestilent seed,
In minds where credulity takes heed.
A palimpsest of memories, scraped clean,
A tabula rasa on which the zeitgeist writes,
A cacography of what has been,
And what the future, like a gorgon, bites.
The sciamachy of shadows and the light,
A febrile, desperate, and abortive fray,
The inexorable, numinous blight,
Consuming the last vestige of the day.
And so the long-suffering cosmos will end,
Not with a cataclysmic, deafening roar,
But with a whispered, lugubrious, sibilant trend,
A slow, gradual, and ineffable chore.
The cosmos folds inward, a collapsing flower,
Its erstwhile glory, a forgotten, fading lore;
A vestigial, fleeting, final, ephemeral hour,
Before oblivion, atrophying, foreverment
A palimpsest of memories, scraped clean,
A tabula rasa on which the zeitgeist writes,
A cacography of what has been,
And what the future, like a gorgon, bites.
The sciamachy of shadows and the light,
A febrile, desperate, and abortive fray,
The inexorable, numinous blight,
Consuming the last vestige of the day.
The eschatological pallor starts to creep,
Ineluctable, its phthistic grasp takes hold;
The unremembered dead begin to sleep,
In sepulchral dust, their stories all untold.
A susurrus, a murmur of the deep,
A perquisite for the slumbering dead,
As scions of a somnolent epoch creep
From ossuaries where forgotten prayers are said.
The hierophant, in his gaudy, ornate motley,
Holds aloft a tarnished, brazen orb;
His plangent voice, an atavistic medley,
Which dissonant echoes from the void absorb.
He chants a litany of exigent need,
A sophistry for a tenebrous creed,
His rhetoric, a fecundating, pestilent seed,
In minds where credulity takes heed.
The hypnopompic twilight starts to fade,
A soporific lethargy descends;
The cosmos, a grotesque masquerade,
Towards its unremembered conclusion wends.
The aeviternal void, a nonplussed stare,
Upon the final, futile, and last prayer;
An opaline, aetheric, and vacant stare,
Into the great, ineffable, and last despair.
And so the long-suffering cosmos will end,
Not with a cataclysmic, deafening roar,
But with a whispered, lugubrious, sibilant trend,
A slow, gradual, and ineffable chore.
The cosmos folds inward, a collapsing flower,
Its erstwhile glory, a forgotten, fading lore;
A vestigial, fleeting, final, ephemeral hour,
Before oblivion, atrophying, forevermore.
Aeolian lamentations, Canto II
(Stanzas 1-6 appear in the previous turn)
The hypnopompic twilight starts to fade,
A soporific lethargy descends;
The cosmos, a grotesque masquerade,
Towards its unremembered conclusion wends.
The aeviternal void, a nonplussed stare,
Upon the final, futile, and last prayer;
An opaline, aetheric, and vacant stare,
Into the great, ineffable, and last despair.
(Stanzas 7-12)
The eidolon of memory, a faint skein,
Unravels in the plangent cosmic deep;
A phantasmal, paludal, viscid stain,
Of a time when thought could stir from stygian sleep.
The haptic ghost of feeling, now inane,
A spectral shiver through the cosmic dust,
Where an anodyne and listless refrain,
Echoes a final, desiccated, bitter crust.
The orphic utterance, a strangled sound,
Extinguished in the pandemonic hush;
On ossified, and preterite ground,
The final, flaccid, numinous blush.
A sycophantic susurrus of air,
A final, vacuous, and breathy plea,
From things which never were, yet still were there,
In this entropic, somnolent decree.
The noumenal specter, veiled and unperceived,
A disembodied, phrenic, and mental ghost,
By the dying mind is dimly misconceived,
As the last flicker of a spectral host.
The recondite, arcane, and esoteric dread,
A phylactery of forgotten art,
Is silently, and slowly, being read,
As the mind and its cognition fall apart.
The simulacrum of the self, a thin disguise,
Is rent asunder on the astral loom;
The ego, a fallacious enterprise,
Dissolves into the all-encompassing gloom.
The liminal threshold, a diaphanous curtain,
Where the self and non-self do intertwine;
Becomes a final, ineluctable, and certain,
Expanse of nothing, where no light can shine.
The chthonic phantasm, with its pallid face,
A gnostic, silent, and enigmatic dread,
Erases the last remnant of time and space,
In this cosmogonic, catatonic bed.
The telos, a forgotten, final, vacant aim,
A perquisite for a past-bound faith;
Is now an empty, and a hollow name,
A spectral, silent, and forgotten wraith.
The fuliginous umbra, a necrotic stain,
Spreads through the cosmic, carnal, fibrous weft;
A metonym for an all-consuming pain,
Of a universe of all its meaning heft.
The anomie, a final, vacant, empty cry,
From the shattered, derelict, and broken spheres;
A lugubrious, and plangent, final sigh,
From the finality of cosmic tears.
The atavistic shudder, a profound recoil,
Through the non-being of the final scene;
The cosmic, carnal, and entropic foil,
For all that ever was, and might have been.
The hierophant, a spectral, muted form,
A hieratic echo of a sacerdotal past;
Surrenders to the all-enveloping storm,
Where the first and the final die at last.
The gormandizing stillness, a gluttonous peace,
Consumes the last, infinitesimal sound;
The aphasic whisperings, which now cease,
And melt into the cosmic, silent ground.
The effluvial miasma, of the once-living breath,
Dissolves into the airless, and cold dark;
A necropolis, a mausoleum of death,
Leaving no final, existential mark.
The tessellated firmament, a brittle mosaic,
Of forgotten galaxies and stellar debris;
Fractures with a soundless, poignant, and archaic,
Collapse into the non-being of what is to be.
The noumenon of truth, now a shattered shard,
A flotsam, and a jetsam in the non-sea;
A final, lonely, and unheeded card,
In a game of cosmic, ineluctable decree.
The orrery of the senses, a broken clock,
Its gears and cogs now frozen in the dark;
The intellect, a desiccated, futile lock,
On a door that offers no revealing mark.
The pathos, of a world that once had thought,
Of purpose, meaning, and a destined end;
Is an ephemeron, a ghost of what was wrought,
And what could never, ever be a friend.
The philistinism of the formless, and the bleak,
A perfunctory, and unfeeling space;
Is all that's left for which the senses speak,
Of a non-entity, with a vacant, empty face.
The apotheosis of the meaningless, a final crest,
Is reached upon the waves of cosmic pain;
A final, morbid, and a futile test,
To find a meaning that was all in vain.
The eschatological silence, an anemic, thin sound,
The final, vacuous, and ethereal peace;
Upon the entropic, and exhausted ground,
Where all existence finds its final surcease.
The peripeteia of the cosmic play,
A final twist of an unseen, empty fate;
Turns the curtain on the final, dying day,
And leaves the silence, to and of, the state.
(Stanzas 19-24)
The adumbration of a final, fading shade,
The last, attenuated, and faint ghost;
A spectral echo in the cosmic, dead cascade,
Of a once-vibrant, and a teeming host.
The synecdoche of nothingness, a single part,
Represents the all-encompassing, and the null;
The final, broken, and defeated heart,
From a cosmic, carnal, and a dying skull.
The lacuna of the final, empty gaze,
Looks into the hollow of the final night;
A numbing, silent, and a petrified daze,
With no last memory of a former light.
The apogee of all that is, and was, and will,
Reaches its final, empty, and dead end;
A final, silent, and a passive still,
A cosmic, hollow, and a false friend.
The obsequious wind, a fawning, gentle breath,
Blows through the silent, dead, and empty space;
A harbinger of final, ultimate, and true death,
The last, and final, sign of nature's grace.
The chrysalis of being, a broken shell,
Is shattered, and is rendered into dust;
The final sound, a funerary knell,
A final, fatal, and a broken rust.
The apothegm of the universe, a silent creed,
Written in the dust of the final day;
Offers a final, unfulfilling, empty need,
To a cosmos that has nothing left to say.
The philomel of mourning, a quiet, tuneless sound,
From a bird that never was, and never will be;
Sings a song on the cosmic, empty ground,
Of the final, desolate, and vacant plea.
The penumbra of the last and final star,
A fading, faint, and dying light;
Casts a final, empty, spectral scar,
Upon the canvass of the dead night.
The metanoia of the soul, a final turn,
Towards a non-existence, cold, and true;
Offers a final lesson, not to learn,
But to un-learn, and to be un-new.
The fulcrum of the self, a breaking point,
Upon which all reality was based;
Is shattered, and all things are disjoint,
In a cosmic, silent, and an empty waste.
The hypostasis of being, a final, hollow stand,
A final, desperate, and a empty sigh;
Is lost in the final, formless, empty land,
As the final remnant of all things goes by.
(Stanzas 25-30)
The ataraxia of non-existence, a final peace,
A quiet, empty, and a calm abyss;
Offers a final, ultimate, and true release,
From the fleeting, desperate, final bliss.
The eidolons of the final, vacant thought,
Drift through the space of the un-formed mind;
A final battle, silently is fought,
And leaves all form and substance far behind.
The aporia of meaning, a logical despair,
A final, silent, and a deep defeat;
Is found within the final, empty air,
As all is rendered, silent, and complete.
The eschaton, a final, cold, and bitter end,
To all the longing, and the futile need;
The universe, a false, and fleeting friend,
A final, desiccated, and a silent seed.
The numinous echo, a faint, and dying hum,
Of a universe that once had known its name;
Now silently and slowly, has gone numb,
And extinguishes its final, burning flame.
The apotheosis of the final, vacant eye,
Beholds the nullity of the dead space;
And offers up a final, empty, silent cry,
For the final, fading, and forgotten grace.
The plangency of the last, and empty sigh,
From a universe that cannot breathe or cry;
Ripples through the cosmic, and the dead sky,
As the last vestiges of existence pass by.
The anamnesis of the final, fading dream,
A recollection that has lost its truth;
Offers a final, spectral, fading gleam,
Of a final, lost, and empty cosmic youth.
The eidolon of time, a fading, ghostly trace,
Drifts through the moments that no longer are;
The final, empty, and forgotten space,
Of a final, lonely, and an empty star.
The adytum of the empty, and the final mind,
Holds the final, silent, and unheeded prayer;
Leaving the final, vacant, truth behind,
And offering only nothing, and despair.
(Stanzas 31-36)
The anagnorisis of the final, final act,
A recognition of the end, and of the whole;
A silent, cold, and a desolate, empty fact,
That offers no salvation to the soul.
The methexis of the final, cold, and lonely state,
A final sharing in the dead, and silent space;
The final, cold, and ultimate empty fate,
Is written on the final, vacant, empty face.
The elegy for the universe, a silent plea,
A final, desolate, and unheeded song;
A last, and final, silent, empty decree,
From a place where nothing can go wrong.
The apocatastasis of the empty, and the null,
A final, silent, and a void restore;
Fills the final, vacant, and the hollow skull,
With the final, silent, and empty lore.
The periphrasis of the final, final word,
An indirect and empty, broken phrase;
Offers a final, silent, and a futile bird,
To sing of meaning in the final days.
The aposiopesis of the silent, final breath,
A halting, and an incomplete, dead sound;
Offers a final, unfulfilling, empty death,
Upon the vacant, and the silent ground.
The hypogram of the final, empty text,
A sub-text of non-meaning, and of non-truth;
Offers a final, vacant, cold, and silent hex,
Upon the empty, and the silent youth.
The prosopopeia of the final, silent cry,
Personifies the nullity, and the vast;
Offers up a final, empty, and a silent sigh,
For all that's gone, and all that will not last.
(Stanzas 37-42)
The anathema of the final, futile quest,
A curse upon the hope that once was there;
Offers a final, silent, and a cold behest,
To all the longing, and the last despair.
The hylomorphism of the final, broken form,
A compound of the null, and of the void;
Is shattered, and gives way to the storm,
Of a universe of all its being toyed.
The antinomy of the final, empty rule,
A contradiction in the non-law of the land;
Makes all the final, empty, and cold fool,
Understand the final, silent, and empty hand.
The palilalia of the final, empty word,
A repetition of the broken, silent sound;
Is heard within the cosmic, silent bird,
That falls upon the vacant, silent ground.
The prolegomenon of the final, empty text,
An introduction that has nothing to impart;
Offers a final, silent, and a cold vex,
Upon the final, silent, and the empty heart.
The epilogue of the final, empty play,
A concluding section that has nothing to impart;
Offers a final, empty, and a dead day,
And ends the final, empty, and the broken art.
(Stanzas 43-48)
The neologism of the final, empty word,
A new, and empty, and a vacant sound;
Is now the final, silent, and cold bird,
That falls upon the dead, and silent ground.
The catachresis of the final, empty sign,
An abuse of meaning in the final, empty space;
Makes all the final, empty, and cold pine,
For the final, vacant, and the empty grace.
The synesthesia of the final, empty sense,
A blending of the final, empty sound and sight;
Offers no final, empty, and a cold defense,
Against the final, silent, and the dead night.
The prolepsis of the final, empty end,
A figure of anticipation in the final, empty air;
Foretells a final, vacant, and a cold, dead friend,
In the final, silent, and the dead despair.
The paralipsis of the final, silent speech,
A rhetorical omission of the final, empty truth;
Offers a final, silent, and a cold impeach,
Upon the final, empty, and the dead youth.
The enallage of the final, empty time,
A substitution of the final, empty word;
Makes all the final, empty, silent rhyme,
Of a final, silent, and a dead, cold bird.
The oxymoron of the final, living dead,
A contradiction in the final, empty stage;
Makes all the final, silent, and the dread,
A silent, vacant, and a broken age.
The euphemism of the final, empty death,
A mild expression of the final, empty end;
Makes all the final, silent, empty breath,
A final, vacant, and a dead, cold friend.
The hyperbole of the final, silent lie,
An exaggeration of the final, empty sound;
Makes all the final, empty, silent cry,
Resound upon the vacant, silent ground.
The litotes of the final, empty truth,
An understatement of the final, silent space;
Makes all the final, empty, and cold youth,
See the final, vacant, empty, dead face.
(Stanzas 49-54)
The zeugma of the final, empty noun and verb,
A use of one word in two different ways;
Makes all the final, silent, cold, and dead kerb,
A marker of the final, empty days.
The synecdoche of the final, empty part and whole,
A part that represents the final, empty all;
Makes all the final, empty, silent, and cold soul,
A part of the final, silent, and empty fall.
The metonymy of the final, empty word,
A substitution of the final, silent name;
Makes all the final, silent, cold, and empty bird,
Sing of the final, silent, and empty flame.
The paradox of the final, living dead,
A statement that is logically absurd;
Makes all the final, silent, and the empty dread,
A truth that's not, and never will be, heard.
The apostrophe of the final, silent plea,
An address to the empty, and the void;
Makes all the final, empty, silent decree,
A silent word that cannot be destroyed.
The chiasmus of the final, empty end and start,
A reversal of the final, empty word and thought;
Makes all the final, silent, and the broken heart,
A start that ends, and a void that's caught.
The pathetic fallacy of the final, empty rain,
Attributing human emotions to the final, dead sky;
Makes all the final, silent, and empty pain,
A silent, cold, and an empty lie.
The anastrophe of the final, empty phrase,
A reversal of the normal word order in the final, silent space;
Makes all the final, silent, empty, and cold daze,
A final, vacant, and a dead, cold face.
The epanalepsis of the final, empty word,
A repetition at the beginning and the end of the final, empty line;
Makes all the final, silent, empty, and cold bird,
Sing a final, silent, empty, and cold sign.
The assonance of the final, silent, empty vowel sound,
A repetition of the empty, final, broken plea;
Makes all the final, empty, and cold ground,
Echo with the final, silent, empty, and dead sea.
The alliteration of the final, silent, empty consonant sound,
A repetition of the empty, final, broken word;
Makes all the final, empty, silent, and cold ground,
Resound with the final, silent, and dead bird.
The consonance of the final, silent, empty consonant,
A repetition of the empty, final, broken tone;
Makes all the final, empty, silent, and cold chant,
Resound with the final, empty, and cold, dead stone.
(Stanzas 13-18)
The mimesis of the end, a final, empty art,
A representation of a final, empty stage;
Offers a final, broken, and a shattered part,
From a final, empty, and a ruined age.
The ekphrasis of nothingness, a detailed view,
Of all the vacuum, and the empty space;
Offers a final, silent, and an empty hue,
Upon the final, vacant, and the empty face.
The noema of the final, empty mind,
A thought that offers no coherent sense;
Leaves all the last of
No comments:
Post a Comment