The comming of the Hierophant
I,who is the Unmentionable,sit at the window.As the winged servants fly through each of the 999 rooms,I realise,painfully slowly,what does come to pass.
The Hierophant does come.Yet should we welcome him?Already he presses his thousand hands upon the gate in the form of a tear ,already his fangs sink and rip apart the yellow velvet skin,that nature furnished the earth with,upon the end of winters death.Already,he screams out in baryton:“Die nacht is stil,warum wollen sie keine?“This all is pleasing,but………should we let him in?
I rise,y et one of my legs rips from my socket and refuses to stand.I hop on one foot,yet one of my arms comes off and blocks my passage,holding itself upon the golden stomach of my ancestor,the Wise-Man of Duseldorf, the pious monk ,who never broke the celibacy and holds with all its strength upon this organ.Yet my Will is Ultimate and so I unite my forces and pull and pull,till at last my hand rips off.I move forward in delight,yet forgeting that I have but one leg,I try to step with the false one,fall down and break it.And although the bone is piercing through the flesh,I feel no pain,sadly.I bend forward,lick the few drops of blood that stil lingered in my veins before this extempóre and rise,clumsily,looking around the walls,upon witch a million hatchets are placed at strange intervals ,at wild distances,rising within this circular hall so high that they blend into nothingnes within the topmost circle,from witch,it is said,fly the radiations of Gods will and,passing through our home,spread into the entiere universe.I find one and chop and chop and then I go farward,crawling with the aid of a signle hand.Finaly,I reach the door,but allas,I forgot the hatchet and found it my heart-my chest and trunk are useless.I dispatch my head and throw it to the door and,using my tongue,I open the door and fall the the ground.I use my eybrows to turn round and great the host,who picks me up and says:“Unser wirst du sein!“, replacing his head with mine as a sign of friendship.The boar-head rests as we pass into the study,complimenting each others good looks.
strach antilistí vztahy aa deprese sex jen tak momentka příroda mládí horor svoboda samota voľný verš sobota beznaděj vztah smrt vyznání bolest život město horror nenávist krev láska noc naděje cesta sen touha podzim ... erotika marnost pocity temnota . realita poezie .. zklamání pocit zoufalství žena * zima emoce les tma x hrůza srdce osud čas haiku vzpomínka povídka fantasy smutek humor přetvářka