Ebon Rhapsody

22 Oct

Property of DarkRose Productions
Copyright 10/22/13
By Julia DarkRose Ray

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This is my third attempt at rewriting this prose. I am still not satisfied with it. Many may not understand the fundamentals of writing, so let me explain why I am having such a difficult time with this prose. Most of my prose is written in a mixture of old world English and 18th to 19th century English, with a little modern English here and there. Well, writing in this way is not easy, at all, not if I want my prose to make sense and relatively easy for my readers to “decode”. It is truly a bit of an unusual talent to be able to write in this format. Some of my prose that is written this way, I just cannot seem to get them exactly the way they need to be. So, this is my third attempt at this particular prose. Thank you for taking the time to [try] read it.

***Also, almost all of my writing, prose, articles, and so on, there is something that I do that makes my writing unmistakeably mine. Several of my fans and devoted readers, have caught on and even asked me if I knew that I had written certain things in a certain way on purpose, Lol…yes, I did and continue to do so. I wonder who can find my “trademark” writing within my works? For anyone stealing my work, would undoubtedly try to change it, thinking I had made a mistake, .
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Ebon Rhapsody

Come to her empty of your day fire misery.
Embrace the rubescent maiden,
most perfect Lady of Night,
who brings a noise of valiant winds
and the rushing rivers of ebon truth.

For the liars burning aurora,
acid rains and shallow ruins are over
and all the season of betrayal and vileness,
shall now wither to poisoned dust.
The days dividing lover and lover
are washed away by Her mighty storm.
The light that loses substance,
shall be replaced by our precious Night that substantiates;
And time remembered is grief forgotten,
and frosts slain,
and nighttime flowers begotten.
In shadowed underwood
we are covered blossom by blossom,
the crimson Spring begins…

Before the beginning of years
there came to the making of human kind,
time, with a gift of tears;
Sorrow, with a glass that always flowed;
Pleasure, with pain for genesis;
Summer, with flowers that fell;
Remembrance fallen from ebon rhapsody
and beautiful madness risen from Pandemonium;
Strength with the spirit to smite;
Love that endures for all breaths;
Darkness, the creator of light, and life,
the shadow of Death…

Then the sun was borne…
and swallowed the gospel of our Lady Night.
Eyesight and speech they, those vacant souls, wrought,
for the veils of the spirit therein,
a time for labor and diseased thought,
a time to serve false verity and enslave;
They gave the children of the Moon
the false light of their ways and selfish love,
and a space for insipid delight,
masked beauty and the length of disturbing days
and the dim gloom, they call midnight,
permission to sleep in the arms of our own
luminous Dark Mother.

Their speech is a burning fire of atrophied spiritual waste;
With their deceiver lips
they travail the delusions of the begotten son;
In their hearts is a blind desire,
in their shrouded eyes
foreknowledge of untrue death;
They try to weave our lives,
clothed with derision
of what they mistakenly fear.
Swine they are
and shall not reap the dark joy
and wisdom of the eventide.
They exist as a confused vision
between a sleep and asleep.

Oh, we have seen thee,
o false love,
thou aren’t true;
Thou aren’t goodly,
thou aren’t the burning
of unconditional love,
of the spirit of creation,
thou art a lie…

For your words divide and rend;
But ours, the red moon tribes,
eclipsed silence, is most noble till the end.

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