Site hosted by Angelfire.com: Build your free website today!

Darkness Rising

Eve of the Storm

We, imprisoned in shadows, are no longer able to hear the church bells ring.
Lock and entranced within the crystal orb, searching for the vision which lies in wait.
Bestowed upon us, this gift of sorrow, our blood soaked wings ache to ascend.
To avenge the unholy fathers fall is what consumes our rotting souls.
Shackles weaken as the hour draws near.
An endless torment reigns in the refuge of the damned as the dark choir sings for the arrival of the crimson beast.

Ghost of death, hear our prayers.
Exhume our evil souls.
Reanimate our divine being of Darkness so that we may besiege the endless river of souls and summon the dead to make war with the anointed one.
Make fast these seven winters of Hell so that we may present a dozen dead roses to the Christ and reclaim what was ours.








Critical Condition

Confined inside a chaotic circle within the vastness of the mind.
A unclean madness spins its web, forever to be its slave.
A growing thickness of the void chokes the life from the simplicity of rational thought.
A dark heart hardens while blackened blood overflows with wicked delight.
The frozen stillborn reality offers no escape from the path chosen then followed.
Forever is nothing as nothing is forever for the broken shell of sanity.
Only will it find serenity with a beautiful evil death.







The Invitation

Darkest of souls, take forth this hand. Guide this life through endless journey.
Ancient of days, Prince of Hell, caress this willing eager soul.
Baptize with blessing in blood of martyrs.
Pervade this body with presence and make known your forbidden will.
In beautiful Hell, submerge this faith and darken the light, so I may see.
This I request of you.








Original sin, art, and writings by Atticus. © copyright 2003-2005 Season of Misery Productions