Behold not! Behold not forth for thouest doth know the truth of said certainty of life. He who hath not the will nor strength to breach that which leadeth assund'r the will and breadth of bethought. A will which nay man nor beast of God's eternal shall tread upon lest whith'r and die before night's bitter cold heart maketh a chance to redeem thouest from but mere mortal solitude.
Pain of heart to which all did owe to mine and nay oth'r. Unspeakable atrocities beckon thy mind—forthwith and ling'r upon thine's own soul, stain'd by lust for mine own self—greed for mine own profit—passion for mine own world.
A behest to pierce evil's heart with truth's wieldy blade alas hadst been foresaken'd to one as unjust as I.
None but prophet, sage or wizard hath knowledge for recompense to life yond which one doth owe. Recompence but mere common'r hath nay knowledge nor art to conjure. But yea I have dicov'r'd thine own! I has't dwell'd deep into the well of necromancy and dicov'r'd yet yond which is true!
To conjure!
To concoct!
To controleth!
Yea yond soon the ire of demons—I cry begone!
I knoweth mine own!
I maketh mine own!
I drinketh mine own!
Thy pause be nay more. I has't begun mine own dispatch of all yond which has't curs'd and beguil'd mine own sense of honour and true nature. Demons writhe within as mine own soul rebuk'd the essence of the demons. Mine heart pounds to driveth the beasts—it sayeth begone! Blood of fire mine heart pounds. Guides of sinew pulleth upon mine muscles and profess amongst to deny mine own demons. They spilleth from mine mouth and ears as if driv'n by the very wrath of God almighty! Mine own vessel expell'd of evil's wrath may hence rest as recompence has't been received.
Mine own soul has't but ling'r'd amongst the ethereal and valorous. Death's honourable deed be done!
art source: pic
