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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Spiritual · #2280792
Five Poems with a single theme - the Psychopomp - Soul Guide to the Place of Death
Psychopomp I

In the palest glow of moonlight,
I saw the Old Gods die.
In the palest glow of moonlight,
I heard their final cry.

By the pointillist prick of starshine,
I saw the Old Gods fall.
By the pointillist prick of starshine,
I heard their final call.

In the darkest well of midnight,
I saw the old Gods expire.
In the darkest well of midnight,
I heard crackle their funeral pyre.

Before the grey of new dawn,
I lead them on their way.
Before the grey of new dawn,
Forth to another day.

Psychopomp II

Slowly, so slowly, the light, it left his eyes.
Life, it is more fragile than err it ever seems,
And death is all pervasive, life forever teems.
Nowhere is as lonely as where an old god dies.

Forgotten, perhaps forgiven, needless nonetheless.
His purpose is still recognised, within the greater sphere.
Yet his throne was long supplanted, now his end is near.
Hard it is the dying now, though in silent acquiesce.

I travel now besides him, in raiment most sombre, black.
And tell his tale before us, it echoes through all time.
Though death, it but begins it, the next part is all mine.
Convey him on the journey, from which, not one, comes back.

Psychopomp III

Now we raise our stones to heaven.
Pyramid, Temple, Ziggurat.
Cry to God of our intention.
To raise ourselves to where you're at.

Know now this, no false pretension,
For we come to claim the crown.
Once we named you King of Heaven,
Now in droves we cast you down.

Though indeed your light still lingers,
In the few and far between.
It's scarce amongst those false bell ringers,
Profess their faith in lies obscene.

Non of them shall hold the candle,
To our terrible tragedy.
Each of them the perfect vandal,
Carving up the mystery.

Toil and pain demands our altar,
And relentless sacrifice of time.
Grind beneath us those who falter.
Sanction lust, and foster crime.

Haul aloft our latest idol.
She shall be our virgin queen.
Besmirch herself and never idle,
Flaunts herself upon the screen.

Coin and commerce are all that matter,
Counts not cost in misery.
Spend our time in idle chatter,
Revelling in debauchery.

Self made man, in his own image,
Stands atop his Babel tower,
Fears not to fight, or maybe war wage,
Knows not the limits of his power.

We have killed our old god truly,
Psychopomp leads his soul away.
Perhaps we'll come to know discretely,
Just what we gained and lost today.

Psychopomp IV (Osiris)

In vaunted box, with molten lead,
We seal our God, declare him dead.

And cast his body in to the sea,
Till it finds rest in tamarisk tree.

Conceals the cask within it's heart,
The tree grows stronger from this start.

Till it is hewn, by king's command,
Within his house its made to stand.

Whence comes the Goddess, sister, mate,
Upon the Queen, she now does wait.

Reveals herself through quickened fire,
And the sarcophagus does now require.

Yet hidden, now our God is found,
Dismembered then and scattered round.

Far and wide the pieces are thrown.
The Goddess searches for them all alone.

And builds a temple for each she finds.
Erects her God in the people's minds.

Till all are found, except but one,
That the one she rides upon.

Through all her arts he's reassembled.
One piece replaced that in her trembled.

And forth she bore her God a son.
Through him was retribution won.

In our God then was life renewed.
A new role was now fierce pursued.

I conveyed him then by paths unknown,
King of the Dead, upon his throne.

Psychopomp V

Now there is just a hollow shell, devoid of all presence.
Recipient of a faith chewed in the maws of so many.
Pap for the masses who's feeble minds cannot encompass,
Anything more vigorous than Our Father and Hail Mary.
Who's alleluias are no cry of joy, bursting from the heart.
Unsuspecting that their resurrected God is dead.
His energies now diverted to flow in other tides.
His followers inexorably following him into death.
And I the psychopomp shall fulfil my function, purpose.
Guide them from the path their God has left them
Their lives and cares scoured from them.
Then shall mourning pass into morning,
Then shall they see the rising sun

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