Infatuation with the Not-Believed

A fool, perchance I might be,
oblivious to the world, as if
born anew, I wander far off
with uneven footing, with no
care for the precipice’s edge.

And the void beneath, that black
endlessness that stares forever
upward at any so foolish to peer,
or worse, fall within.

El Elyon above, if what my heart
speaks of you is true, I hope
to all, Baal, Mot and Moloch.

Pray that your uncaring hands
never grasp and lift me back up
if I into the void foolishly fall

With grimoire in hand, and lack
of knowledge above all, let me
delve deep with the undeciphered
key hidden inside my heart.

Bael, Buer, Orobas, Paimon,
I hope you’d afford this magus,
this most deluded bridge between
your realm and reality, a warm

Your tales don’t exist without the
reverie of this mad charlatan,
we both can tell, but neither do
I exist as myself without the
augur of all mystical and macabre.

This fool, this magus, this priestess,
this agnostic! Atheist! unbeliever of
heavens, yet falls beneath your spell,
Let me peer into the void, please, do tell.


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