Inorganic Rites

From the faith of the most devout a new aspect of consciousness was born 
 Parataxis, flat reality gave way to doubt, emotions left unexpressed one with their tragic fates 
 His god’s voice tells him to kill his son An exiled scholar writes his life’s work An aristocrat’s propaganda opens a door to the other realm

Chaptered, quartered, and left to rot liquified tissue runs down the arms carrying this carrion back to the living for their psychological well-being ceremonial closure 
 Each chuck of the pick sends shivers one known since the beginning anticipation of the unavoidable 
 Botched ground, ice and stone rising sea levels burial above ground in a stone pod cemented shut and left to rot so the civilized can rest in peace

A silent progress through the indeterminate Heavy with the implications of extending into the depths of time, space, and consciousness

Bewildered I am seen ghost walking through the crowded woods chattering at nothing with the other ghosts Sun and dust in lung and eye fearful still be here Here amongst forever Feeling time begin again and again growing still Eternally dying and birthing the same burning the memories of earth

Asked for a sign and found only chaos Prophet of last things, bearer of a truth still veiled to him 
 Beloved, come forth as a revelation of the perfect order Earthly particularity held fast in the mirror of a timeless eye

You retreated into your shell long before I was born to an impenetrable interior And surely there were moments of peace, domestic love, and the fulfillment of communal artistry 
But the darkness must be reckoned with The people you kept close The people you pushed away

oldest web frozen thought insists false autonomy longest thread enabled through instincts unfurl ancient shadowed pointless portrayal smolder long shut action defined endless silence secretion life succumb to inorganic rites

and when they asked me “are you ready?” I truly was and when they changed the shape upon me I could follow it forever without pause 
 This thing has existed without name before uncountable sources outward lessen its purpose and you can sense its presence without it making a sound 
 I can only summon its offenses when I am not myself I can only seethe from it the last drops of what went wrong