May Our Chambers Be Full
We saw the light fall from your eyes and heard the last call from all your voices. A heart so hollow can still rise, can rise up from you sin. Skin like tallow is turning. I feel like we have revived you once before. I ask that you make room on the killing floor. Felt the last strike from your hands and fists can open to make new your resting ends. For life so thoughtless, for dreams no now believed. The helm of sorrow is hopefully sinking. I’m sure that if we dragged you back to shore, you’d lay yourself down again on some killing floor. Move your body from this place. Move your body to heaven. I can taste Elysian Fields.
Submitted by Nargaroth — Apr 26, 2025
Perception colored by death of a loved one, of a friend. Conception choked at the hinge. When did this become the end? Mercy, mercy. Kneel at the base of our monolith, and pray its faceless grey plains choose blindness. To bet on anything less, to bet on your dog to win. Finicky sleight of hand. Convince the spectators that you can't. Show off hollow accomplishments. Contention, cold sacrilege, colder still for giving in. Mercy, mercy. Kneel at the base of our conduit, and pray its faceless grey plains choose blindness.
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Apr 26, 2025
The slender sun receding where pain and thought departed. The hymns that illness breaths into our hearts, a seat. It sings in silver threats and golden phrases turning, a verse no one forgets: The Song of All Things Burning. This one is predetermined. This one will find no favor. This one is weight unburdened, dragging down our lives. This one is predetermined we all know just what comes next. In the depths of your unfailing strange selfishness, stay the last corrupt remaining pale monuments. In the dark of your unending daft unconsciousness, does the spark catch to the edifice and flame. In flames.
Submitted by SerpentEve — Apr 26, 2025
Through falling years, these failing times. We forged in fear and blood-soaked rites, in salt of tear, in age of line. The cycle unending, beyond man and time. My Voice, reaching back, oh, children mine. Surrounded by enemies, you have sought me out in silence—in the darkness of concrete passage, in the darkness of the flesh, in the wisdom of bleak asylum. I sing to you in the ur-tongue, in the language of ecstasies, of joys deeper than agonies. Beyond man and time, my voice reaching back. Six thousand feet, my voice reaching back. Of rippling impulse, true, real, raw hunger—my voice reaching back.
Submitted by NecroLord — Apr 26, 2025
All alone… All alive… Undefined… It is, so it is. It is, it just is. Tethered, we will never know the river of a real life. Forced to watch a colored picture of the sunset. Waiting for the failure of this frail frame. Shadows keep us chained inside the cave. Afford us answers, ancestors fail. Scrawling in silence what silence says. When will it all end? It all just ends. Golden were the apples of desire, a hope that there was something more to taste. The senses only liars in the pale light, false companions who have nothing more to say.
Submitted by Immortal — Apr 26, 2025