Vampyrrhic Reflections by Bo Gallows

a waifaring stranger, taunted by the myths of the old gods,
drinks melancholy from his own supply,
strung out on the alchemy of deliverance.

the clown incantations of drear shadow theatres
have turned the Word to work
in the service of a halting pride.

the spiders conspire in supernatural business hours
“more web, less prey, spin the silk before it’s too late,
before the shy wick is lit no more”.

the wolflings have grown rogue
and lone, roam the marshes in
anorexic neglect of their hungers.

the karmic debts are to be collected,
bonds and reprieves of borrowed grace boiled
for rations of crushed root and intoxicant leaf.

the Oracle is counting her final breaths
hailing those who wait behind the veil-
go towards them, wise and weary one,
this cruel pilgrimage ends in the mercy of deathlessness.

a vampyrrhic mystic, haunted by bloodbathed moonights,
lies pentagrammatically in the long grass,
atoning to the night sky in silent penitence.

-*-

This record is best enjoyed in darkness.

the voice of one calling in the Weirdness