Thelema

by John E Marks

Friday 1st March 2019 6:29 pm

Do what thou wilt the devil spout

Feel like a wicked masquerade

Ceremonies of a wicked heart

Families torn apart

The mortal remains of incubi

And succubi creep into sin.

A moonlit vista dominates

Notice the foggy mist

A briar-field steeped in thorns

No respite, no grassy dawns in sight,

Nietzsche, the Gnostic saint, sighs:

Throughout a nightmare in three acts:

A large private house, blacked-out

Windows, distorting views.

Disorientated, he claims to be

A workman, claims to be you.

Strapped in a dentist’s chair

Nobody there. Disguise, pullout

His eyes. Nowhere to hide…

A ritual sacrifice

On an improvised stage: an upturned

Child’s cot. Jesus saves.

Next door, evisceration is being endured

In silence. The ghouls are not to be

Trusted. A Health Spa dedicated

To the worship of the body. All the staff

In sparkly clean white uniforms with

Faint splatters of blood..

Nobody knows about this but me.

I recognize voices

I try to flee. See!

Being injected again

World without end.