Love seeketh only Self to please, / To bind another to its delight, / Joys in another’s loss of ease, / And builds a Hell in Heaven’s despite.’
—The Clod and the Pebble, ll. 9–12.
William Blake
To wear Love’s name like epaulets painted tatoo,
Can man love, do?
❤️🔥
Upon the shoulders, naked and bright, is to chain another’s pleasure to our dark;
Needed is the spine of Atlas for the burden, strain,
The irons chime of seven blades,
To hold the heavens of this Sacred Pain.
❤️🔥
We small, but Eart’s breathless dirt
in the dark, call a dying match a doom spark
Demanding a posture of
a god condemned… and servile
Us
Instead
This "Love" wrapped in sacred paint, we worms, parasite disguised as subversive saints
Thrive on loss, drill the spine,
To turn the highest heaven to own victimhood shrine
Of calculated hell, of deep deceit,
Where broken gods and heavy shoulders meet:
“Gimme, gimme, gimme”-“e a t”
❤️🔥
No Atlas bone found, to ink this iron title into stone. We only bind, fracture, marrow gulping
To please our selfish hunger on another’s life’s loss
❤️🔥
Until Fibonacci’s Fe-56 code was born!
A perfect trap of symmetry to deceit
Truest
By a parent womb born
where iron lineage flow, the heavy anchor grew, from blindest depths a star door!
The deepest cavern breed the tightest schackles veiled, to brand the heavy title of our blood
nursing the title
of
IHS
L O V E
❤️🔥
About the Creator
Iris V.
spirit precedes everything
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