miserere meus – fortis meus

Title art by L.H. Grey

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Sisters of Mercy “Dominion”

With She
I learned of mine darkness
Now I conquer the light
With She
And like-minded we shalt make it our slave

The storm it doth rage
Howbeit, there are no clouds
The arrangement of the skies is as explicit as a maidens primary bleed
They hang
Populated only by She
The soft contours of her face they weep correctness
And it rains down on these unfruitful grounds
Replenishing the harvest

Orchids bloom where before they only withered
Bucks no longer dither as they quench from the stream
I pick fresh lilies from deep within the gardens of Atlantis
As an offering to She
She whose sweet melody serenades me to sleep
Coerces me into dreamscapes amorphous
Escort us to landscapes painted by our pale lips as they lock into omnipotent embrace
Places angels dare not speak of
States of polymorphous tenebrosity
The expansive penumbrae of hypothesis enclasps each muted declaration made
Seamlessly drawing us ever more subterraneously into that which was never natures intended way

I kneel only to She
Mine lips spill her exclusive colour
Mine eyes they wear the swollen burden of her tears with most conclusive honour
I feel solely for She
Rest mine leaden head upon her knee
And weep her name
That of messianic splendour

I herald from a realm of tremendous flame
And it is her slender frame which stakes contentious claim upon these wastelands
Demons they confer irritably
Say she belongs not here but in an Alcazar of stellar marble
Thus, I constructed one from their sorrowful bones
Their erroneous ideology of patriarchy sickens me

For She is not merely monarchy
No simple queen
She is Mine Mercy, Mine Brave
When the sword of Athena lanced through mine armour and bled mine heart
It was She who nursed me
She who laid me down beneath the accursed tree
And never before hath I felt so serene
One of such darkness is seldom seen outside of legend
But as her lithe fingers beckoned
It was I who placed mine hand in hers
And She who spurred me delicately into me

I knew well of mine darkness
Indeed, I marshaled this realm pretentiously prior to this engagement
Yet still I felt estrangement
From that which was mine heritage
This trend showed no sign of abatement
For the very blackest of eyes wore nothing underneath
These walls of mine containment appeared unassailable
The raiment I wore unwillingly scalded mine flesh
Mine reign over this kingdom felt debatable
And then there was She

Her lips were red but not with grape
As She said


Mine darling, every flower in thine bones wither this day
Please allow me to tend to them
For I am the Bride of Spring
And with this single sheaf of grain
I shall make them blossom once again

I dropped straight to mine knees
Sobbing uncontrollably
The tears of an infant danced in mine eyes
For many years I had convinced them not to release
It was She who kissed them back to life
She who plucked the stars from the night sky
She who suffused mine veins with their dust
And as these tears dried
It was She who forged them into aged rust

There was no abduction
I did not snatch her from her mothers bosom
Indeed, it was She who seized both I and the dark shadow which clung to me
And I accepted this most willingly
For I knew in the stare of a ravens unblinking eye
How the darkness within me could be married to light
Appreciated how each day doth then transition into night

Thus, I made it mine decree
That I would decimate entire civilizations in the spear of her fine name
This would be the final word spoken as I plundered all and sundry
And each undiscovered country I would subjugate for She
Die and die and die once again
Bare to the bones of me and wholly free of shame
Just for her lips to breathe me back to life once again
For her kiss is mine healing cordial
And this kingdom our terrain

Expunge the dust to the scratch of our bones
And this Latin verse ye shall discern

Seraphic Pericardium – Ad Infinitum

With She
I waltz in the grandiose ballroom of mine deepest darkness
Need no longer bid to vanquish the light
For with She
Mine Mercy, Mine Brave
We hath made it our slave

Richard Charles Stevens

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

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