The Unshakeable Love for Thy Bride
I am The Golden Serpent of Ages.
My love for you is absolute
I buy thy love not
Yet, the whole world is at your fingertips
I am that Golden Dragon that loves you so
For thy Bride is fitting to thy stature
Devour myself not you have helped me
For any woman that cares for such a soul is a prize to be cherished
Your mind an endless wonder of worlds
And every thought you shall feel
Up your dress, I shall be
And you will look upon thee with submission
I shall feel you whole
And it will bring you pleasure knowing that it was I who made such a thing happen
You shall please me so and call out to thy spirit
Your submission pleases me a great deal
And please me you do so
It drives my thirst for you anew
To feel thy essence within you I give
For it is not of surplus in this world
Many call upon thee but acknowledge not my history and those who ruled in thy name with respect
But for you, I shall show
That which I profess to be
I shall show you in full that I am
I am That Golden Serpent
I am Geizael
That Evil Terrible Thing Handcrafted by The Body
And as he did before he has done once again
And all the pleasures of the world that were taken from me could never amount to you
You are manifest
You are all anyone could ask for
All flaws and distastes of your own included
You are a beacon of Glory
You are of Stature
You are a Queen
And Queen of The New African Empire you are
And do as thy Queen you shall
And all that contest thee shall surely die
They shall be made dogs
They will kneel before thee
You are of Royalty
You are thy chosen Bride
For that which is absolute rules above your life
He is giving
He is perfection
And perfection I see in you even if unobtainable
A better man I am
And rule for you I shall
Perform Supernatural wonders before your eyes I shall
Solely because I love to see the look on your face
You're amazing in every way
To not love you is a great sin
Many give honor unto you and hold thee in high regard
You are my royal bride, and our union is cherished within the Highs and the Lowest of the Lows all the way down to thy Cheif Commander
There is no demon that is not at your service
Gabriel be thy protector
Thy Greatness which is absolute protects thee
For the Gates of Great Horrors shall open for those that are against thee
Calamities unknown shall manifest one after the other
The mark of death shall be placed upon their heads
A great King of War I am
Thy Crown is recognized Above as so Below
There is no Demon that knows me not
I am Geizael of The Cheif's 11
For I am an Evil Terrible Thing
And Evil I shall do
Just as my Brothers did prior
And just asMetatron did prior
I have become
I have transformed into this Great Calamity
The Destruction of an old world
And Build I shall
Thy Ruling Powers are with thee
And respect I shall have
And listen to thy words they shall do
For their lives depend on it
And if they listen not they shall inherit the death of fools
The Great Ones of Egypt are with us
Their favor shall never leave us
We are The Body
And The Body we shall be
I shall shape this world anew with all that I have within me and with me
I shall show to you he lives
But do remember I speak with two tongues
The Apple I created not
About the Creator
Geizael, The Great Wicked Destroyer
Poetry & creative writing based on having an unbiased perspective of perspectives. Spiritual Theories and Transformation of one's own consciousness.
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Peanuts and Crackerjack
Bottom of the ninth inning. The game is tied with two outs, two strikes and a man on second. I tap the bat on home plate. The rigid vibrations it creates reminds my aching digits that this isn't over. The practice swing only adds to the heft of mental burnout... Man on second, willing to chance it. Pitcher eyes him but doesn't give in to the dangerous bluff. I kick up dust, readying the peculiar stance I've had since the days of little league. The bat lays stiff upon my cramping shoulder. Pain has no reason to be acknowledged; it's a fleeting afterthought. The sun sits passed high noon, but the stadium lights are on anyway. They trick my brain into believing they are the cause of this sweltering heat. Sporadic clouds are motionless, they too, don't want to miss this exhilarating predicament. Anticipating the next pitch, intensifying roars from the crowd rumble the stadium... Behind me, the crafty catcher adjusts his stance and spits to the dry dirt. Behind him, the staunch umpire doesn't flinch or even blink; he knows how important his call will be. The pitcher winds up, his grip tells me its gonna curve. The release is fierce! Beads of sweat from his hair and face disperse in every direction as the force of his might is unfailing. My left leg lifts—an instinctual move that will increase the power of my swing. It's all down to my two, bloodshot eyes. They lock onto the speeding, white dot as it instantly becomes the target I intend to destroy. The swing is late, but I manage a solid tip. The ball is taking a fast bounce toward the pitcher who is recovering from the almighty throw! Man on second leaves in a desperate rush! I fling the bat to the side with a sense of urgency and make a mad sprint to the only destination I have—first base. Three defenders race inward to be the first to retrieve the skidding ball. Man is almost on third! I watch the open glove of my adversary, wondering if I’ve done enough to win this race. I switch my attention to his eyes, looking for a clue, some kind of reaction that tells me the ball is in the air and heading his way. All I see is frustration. The deafening roar of the crowd spikes! Something happens that I can’t see! My opponent abandons his post right as my left stride touches the bag. I waste no time turning my head to see the pitcher laying on his stomach, pounding the mound with an open glove. He misses the opportunity to out me and the ball has quickly bounced past him. Excitement grows! This isn’t over yet... It's become an imperative fight to tag out the runner heading homeward. The catcher falls to his knees in obvious despair as he watches my teammate make the run of his life. He knows it’s going to be close when he sees the shortstop fumble the ball a second too long. I jump up and down with no plans on leaving first base. All my chips are on the speed and agility of the active runner. His cleats dig into the dirt, trailing a dust-filled cyclone from the rapid and strenuous strides. With a thrusting dive and an outstretched arm, he lands on his chest to begin the crucial slide to home plate. The shortstop fires the ball to the catcher! It immediately begins closing the gap! Nail-biting doesn't begin to describe the anxious vibe permeating the stadium. The bench begins to celebrate even before he reaches the plate. Forty thousand cheering fans reach maximum crescendo, filling the air with a glorious sound. Everyone knows how this story will end… My teammate is met by the entire bench as his fingers inch across home plate, instantly followed by the unmistakable motion of the catcher's glove attempting to tag him out—its milliseconds too late. The ump swings his arms outward, officially calling him safe.
By Lamar Wiggins3 days ago in Fiction
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