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#1 Dec 7 2016 04:29am
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Excerpts of Satanic Poetry

See profile for the scriptures, years old,
I cannot post my latest material.
#2 Jan 9 2017 05:14am
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This was my very first long length poem, soon after I turned 22, I wrote this only 2 months and a half after starting to write poetry.
#3 Jan 9 2017 05:14am
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There I saw Chaos, he who
Sits on his throne, in his realm shone
Colorful and magical convalescence
Bound to the world of sphere alone
Envisioning high from the tempest saw
The temptations of the devil in Heaven
Vows to endanger the angels of the Lord
With perpetual confusion to receive them
To his abyss, where lost angels wander
At lost, with all his powers hears them mourn
Prayers to the one in Heaven the Eternal.
Ordains the chaotic and free to unfold
Selfless at times where the arch-fiends roam
The heavenly perverse to, in the future
Battle at arms for Heaven's blue sky.
Having sensuality on his side remembers
That the souls of the annihilated endure
The tragedy of the thousands armored
In vapors of bright condensing fumes allures
The great winepress of God now tainted
With the essence of the horizon scorches
The sacred blood of Christ, Son of God
Discontinuing the immunity of Him
Elevates incapacitated souls thereafter
In his Halls of fortuitous plunder arrive
Inconceivable to his own perils away
Unabashed by the discontentment awaiting
Seizes the sanctuary of the applause
While entering in the wisest folly
Now to reciprocate his almighty glory
Uncondensed in allmania's contours
Widening the arrays of colors being poured
Far past the bewildering magical moments
Incomparable to his fashion that began
Once out in vestial attire unreproachable
Incomparable to his powerful concepts
In that which a season is not yet passed
To that which cannot yet be done atlast
At the height of eleven after the tens
In acclamation of loudest onset forth
Summarizes what not to expect undone
And then magically extensivates free will
For none but his own heart knows how
How well the poets are of royalty to us
Who then in commemoration to the meek
Mocks their clamor unreconciliated from
The never unturning Hierophant wyrd.
With frightening gargoyles now above
In statue or in flight while thereafter
Heirs of the Satyrical throne unkept
Once in Greece, with bitter resentment
So terrible was he who had started
Ill found trebles near the Holy.
Without time to sorrow enjoyed
Passive means for a living unregarded
Set for himself time to pass and away
Conjured demons and whatever naught
Unsurpassed also in the art of Chaos
Revolutionizes the mechanical functions
Of what, thereafter in his realm orders
The great planification for the ritual unused
High at the everywhere once sought now
Beings tormented by a Chaos unwavering
Reckoning some of his power to the absurd
Now commandeering confusion as weapon
Takes the souls of the good and blessed
Repays with mercy to pay off all dues
Inexpensive to his own interest altered.
Asserts that his reign is secure, even from
The aspiring demons of Hell mainly
To become a deity of his own, now that
Chaos, unwelcoming demigod unanswered
Malconceives his own abolition in there
The Chaos that roams free here throughout
Of him that is one of the unending ones.
Through the sky, fearless mocks the war
Having made an appearance in the future
To the known remains of the slain again
None but what if one could believe that
For few among us down in Chaos know
That this realm is of forms and shapes
Not one to be endured without daze
Forthwith with only shapes and things
For the fallen ones to slay is not an option
To having been slain on its own deserves might
And with sacred royalty unhenced be that curve
Of his royal accomplishments listed per word
Withered beyond a complexity of unusual magics
Incomprehensible to our own cause, dignifying free
Cause of the Eternal will, be done atlast for hope
Lord of Chaos untold with weary might to uphold
His strength and misdemeanor at heights none could
On a plateau of high colors magical bright shining
Opens the sarcophagus of the fallen, now to
In order, perceive their failure at the victory here
Soon to be known in effortful might to withstand his
Maze of obliterating Chaos Hell champion high
Enchanting commandeering concerning Chaos
Streams of worldly colors to random assortment
High at the towers belled for everyone to hear
Randomness at its highest being chaotic and free
Forever with joy comfortable at each one's home
Surveying the stars in colors watch at the night
When all comes in vif unassistance withdrawn
About the laws of Chaos there to be broken
And established as theories of how humans live
Communicating or not communicating forward
Against the winds of unwavering coloring
Under to where the magical wimmering dust
Falls from heights there at the contours of Chaos
Over streams or altogether in them thereafter
Like heat that draws onto a fire nearest itself
Becoming fire of its own at a magical height
Endangering himself from all others before
At the altar of Chaos the Almighty, reigner of those
Who, unattended, without having to become
Kings of the void endless in colors and magic
Appertains throughout none other than stand
To the populous places here in his realm
To be there amounts of confusion, borne
By a sight from within that causes burns
Untouched by the acres of fields in his yard,
Sends emancipations of demons yielding
At their salute, commemorating dearly to those
Who in battle suffered losses so great and terrible
Those that have stood without force to conjecture
Of his souls now most highly paid of them
Their due upon this kingdom high attained
Upon their forthwith losses masses confusion
Summoned the most recent victims of Fall from grace
Not to be extinct, but of some rather higher form
Of the now living angels who live in the Light of God
At hand for most of the time watching in the towers
For enemies, that are scouts thereafter in the North
For that alone is enough to contemplate the forces of Heaven
Knowing that the might of the Almighty Chaos cannot be,
For some time now saying it is, possible that no other
Being or essence convoluted in the romanesque poetry
Of Chaos that now lives here for eternity to spend his life
Charioteering not but growing in wisdom and enrichening his seat.
#4 Jan 9 2017 05:26am
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Vaguely based on Milton's take on Chaos, the Deity & Realm. In Paradise Lost, my primeval motivation to start writing poetry.
#5 Mar 27 2017 09:40am
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Free Writing I just wrote, as someone commented that I was "Rambling",
Much to my disdain of thys Word.

Ouh, you mentioned the word "rambling", that is more of the style of a Bible author, all those historical authors, except Freud, Kierkegaard and Nietzsche to a degree, are ramblers - What I cannot do - I cannot Ramble per se, I only wet myself in my own pure blooded Aestheticism, grasp with sensitivity at my less developed, but highly empathized right side of my brain, take the pinnacle o my blood shineth ruby, draw carnelian stones about, and build a monument out av this precious rock therein, I make it in the style of a carnelian nest - For the Raven to Fly from out of it, once its wings have reached the strength and vigor as if a black winged emperor himself, O I let my Raven Fly, From Out Of the Carnelian Stone Construct I've assembled for its majestic flight out - And it soars aloft, To the Open Sky! See, if you can distinguish, there is a fine spec of aestheticism that defines Art, and separates from those begrudged grey inked ramblers. Do you not See? The contrast of a mere Bible prophet's rambling, compariseth to th'young Phenom's Aestheticismes? For the Phenom has much of a vaster & profound cue to the amicale joys of love, comparison nigh comparison draw - to th' grey inked Rambler. For See, Aestheticism is an Affirmation of Life, whereas rambling is an ouvrage of suffrance, poverty & repentance, this the last, for being most unlike the Aesthetic One, the man of red words, thus it follows from John of Patmos, the only Aesthetic Phenom of the Bible, with most prime conclusion, opened the door... that is like the stepping inside of the Aesthetic Phenom's very own mirror - The Door To Creativity, Of Life Affirmation, Of Rainbows, of Gems and Gold, and Art as the drinking of the Blood of the Saints, See, only the Book of Revelations, is the very start - Of Religion Art. Portway to millenniums Aeternam, Of A New Earth and New Heaven. Displeasant me, most gifted of God's Archangel's, only I and only I, know their true names, for they have not yet been revealed to the avoidance of words the Saving of the Humanization. I Ask thee, doth ramble persuade thee more than Life Affirmation? I ask you again, in different light - make it reddish - that of the Augustenian sunset, do but brim a Glossialic Red, Brimming! Red Light, an abundance of plus - the Rainbow that has never happened over this red Augustenian sunset, a miracle were it to do so, and Appear, Bright in All Saven Colours - Be thou Everlast, as of the Religions of the World, and concede your appeal of Romance, over this mundane reflection of drowning waters, everlastingly, until the last sun sets.
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