Yeah, that's the actual title. I wrote this after some inspiration from Hania, http://hania.newgrounds.com/
Comments: is it written too presumptuous? Too self important? References too obscure?
This is a story of hate
This is a story of hate.
This is a story about a pact that was made on a stormy night and the consequences that follow. Shadow etched upon light, thunder roaring away all but doubt and fear, there was once a house in the woods where nightmares took hold. The bogeyman slept with you, something lurked under the bed, and a path of the black cat was blazed around the rim of the house.
There were twelve on that faithful hour of hate. Ten were of the phallus, and two were of hand mirror and comb. The circle of Solomon was the evocation, complemented within the deepest abyss of the flower of life, circles upon circles, for the circle is infinite and infinity contained. Candles surrounded them, the air a tinge of the mystic and esoteric. Within this night, within this house, in the finite yet deep forest of petrified trees, the Bible of God was spoken yet it was in writ mirrored sides, abomination taken upon mortal tongue. Ghosts cried while the spectre wailed, the hour of mortality was at hand.
Blade and dagger raised, life shall not take life but death shall take life. It shall never be birthed but its cord be ripped into life. Taken from God and Devil, it was placed upon the earth. They cheered, acting like Pagan and Wiccan but with intentions nowhere as noble. Mother Earth cried and parted, for it was here. The phallus shall thrive and it did, while the child of the Firsts tried to cry but couldn't.
Its wrath had been turned and banned from it, it was murdered and put on realm most mortal, when someone dies it shall feel, when someone cries it shall bleed, it was not free. The hour of mortality was reaped from the mid of night, the sky a phantasm of raven corpse and decadent crow, and it was now here.
Thirteen petals on the flower of life, twelve were seated with Judas born. Thirteen participants at the hour of Christ, not a single one to remain within life. The Rubicon crossed by legion 13, the First Reich did be destroyed.
This is the story of hate.
Comments: is it written too presumptuous? Too self important? References too obscure?
This is a story of hate.
This is a story about a pact that was made on a stormy night and the consequences that follow. Shadow etched upon light, thunder roaring away all but doubt and fear, there was once a house in the woods where nightmares took hold. The bogeyman slept with you, something lurked under the bed, and a path of the black cat was blazed around the rim of the house.
There were twelve on that faithful hour of hate. Ten were of the phallus, and two were of hand mirror and comb. The circle of Solomon was the evocation, complemented within the deepest abyss of the flower of life, circles upon circles, for the circle is infinite and infinity contained. Candles surrounded them, the air a tinge of the mystic and esoteric. Within this night, within this house, in the finite yet deep forest of petrified trees, the Bible of God was spoken yet it was in writ mirrored sides, abomination taken upon mortal tongue. Ghosts cried while the spectre wailed, the hour of mortality was at hand.
Blade and dagger raised, life shall not take life but death shall take life. It shall never be birthed but its cord be ripped into life. Taken from God and Devil, it was placed upon the earth. They cheered, acting like Pagan and Wiccan but with intentions nowhere as noble. Mother Earth cried and parted, for it was here. The phallus shall thrive and it did, while the child of the Firsts tried to cry but couldn't.
Its wrath had been turned and banned from it, it was murdered and put on realm most mortal, when someone dies it shall feel, when someone cries it shall bleed, it was not free. The hour of mortality was reaped from the mid of night, the sky a phantasm of raven corpse and decadent crow, and it was now here.
Thirteen petals on the flower of life, twelve were seated with Judas born. Thirteen participants at the hour of Christ, not a single one to remain within life. The Rubicon crossed by legion 13, the First Reich did be destroyed.
This is the story of hate.