My Beautiful Lie

I hide behind a lie forged by my hand

Before this chiseled frame,  

Beyond the perfect shell they will not see my deceit

Thrown acrimoniously at their feet

But they love the lie, the truth would only disappoint;

Disarray their shallow intentions

After all, my invention pleases them

So why not let them drink up the joy

That it possesses? It impresses their eyes

How the lies just continue to spiral to madness

But with gladness I let slip the snap of the treasure,

The feeling of pleasure ensnared in my hand

And the rushing deathblow it deals to their delusions

You see I am the master of such dark illusions

And my creature, my beauty, entices them in

With the slightest of nods, the subtlest grin

As the desperate begging keeps them pouring in

So I toy with their minds; their kind is so… fickle;

Just tickle the ego, caress their detestable best

To watch them so quickly impressed

And so willing to drop and undress

What a mess they are in their desperateness.

But still, I confess, I love that they’re mine

Ensnared in my propaganda made of flesh

At the will of my god, my Adonis, my shrine

The most perfect creation, sculpted divine

Sublime in its presence but mendaciously sly;
In essence, nothing more than an ugly actuality

Beneath such a beautiful lie.

Copyright © 2012 by Simon Austin

Oh Darkness, Sweet Darkness

With my acuminous arm

I saved her wretched soul, like the others,

I drew the blood through clotted veins

And lay her down upon the blackness.

I cleaved the meats from her ivory.

He knelt with me and watched her filth, her poison

Pour through the cobbled streets

Into welcoming drains.

Plucked from the cadaver,

Her vessels of virility are no more;

The erroneous allocation of such a blessing

Will not rot the world in a shallow pit.

I will leave her with her shit.

Her vile excrement belongs in the grave beside her,

Thrown to her shoulders, near the gutter

Of her tortured mouth.

Dim lamps brighten nearby.

As before, I disappear through a trapdoor in the earth

Leaving the swarms of the abyss to relish

In my masterpiece.

But they are not worthy,

They witness only the very tip of my mighty art,

And their vacuous cries, their pitiless insincerity

Is to me but a sonata of applause.

And I will return, to cleanse your cancerous city

Of its disease; on my knees

I’ll draw the infection out, through carotid right, night after night

With divine purpose.

You will search, but you will not see.

Beyond your ignorance; your insignificance

Will blind you and bathe you in thickened blood

Clotted in your unworthy minds.

I am from Hell, and only I will choose my return,

My craft will end at my desire, your only power

Is to behold the chaos of my order,

Of my mastery.

Beneath the flesh of history, are London’s veins

And I will bleed them of their malignancy, their vested plague,
Upon the blessed edge of my ascendancy
Your whores will lay dead.

The mist gathers once more,
I feel it calling to me, its cimmerian shade covets my design
And I dine once more on its inexorable energy;
Oh darkness, sweet darkness, come unto me!

Copyright © 2012 by Simon Austin