All life is burdened with the curse of finality, The pitch black mountain which roses above every gust of hope. Was this Your secret present to the bearers of consciousness? To watch them in agony as you withdrew to the depths of darkness.
Confronted with the insanity of discontinuity Man has long resolved to understanding you As a deathbed analgesic, a past time delinquency Yet, their masks of wax are always stricken with terror.
And still You rule with an iron fist. Without will, consciousness, agency. Assimilating, transfiguring, annihilating. You puny, smallest «God».
I have reached the Gate of Pleroma And I am knocking to deaf ears. No lamb or serpent awaiting to embrace me The air is choking with a lifeless silence, that of solitude.
O Providentia! How I wish that you would strip me off memory So that I may stride in you as a child, back to the lands of old. For this is a deceiving journey into Nothingness In which everything that you see, is what you carry with you.
Will not the refolding of everything that has ever unfolded eventually reach back to the primordial, one Source? Therefore, if singularity can self-manifest, a precedence should exist even for the unprecedented.
As I feel the last of the human essence slip through I remember from a single seed you have once created everything. This, thy all common gift to your children Is the Sanctuary I will defile and enter My final blasphemy.
When there is no beginning, there can be no end. All Creation then I shall hunt throughout the galaxy. And as for the end of everything, it shall take place within Me In union Despotic and Profane. In Stasis.
Rise up then, my blackened Wings, lift my flesh of coal and thorns Take me to every light in the galaxy, so I may darken it. Burn then, my scepter, with my Hate and Hunger, So that I may consume the heart of the innocent.
I am now ALL. I am now ONE. And at last I see the only, true darkness.
Nothing. Τίποτα.
Silence. Stasis.
The loudest cry. The grandest laugh. The cruelest joke.
Everything was predestined. All of this had happened before and will happen again. Recoil. Once again, throughout the purposeless eternity.
As I tear my flesh free, in my last second, I understand. I am now the Womb, the Mother. The Creator.
Recoiling. Eternally.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
