Under The Mill

Chymical Wedding of SigilHex Action

I went to a wedding,
The chemical kind.
Spent the afternoon shedding
The weight on my mind.
And a fusion occurred
Between sigil and hex.
The latter directed to death
And the former to sex.
I left the wake at one.
With a scheme I move on
To The Mill where I dream
By the whispering will.

Th Active Male.

And I harness the wind;
Have it lashed to my heels.
I take flight on a cloud;
Contemplate what I've found;
Visualise a retreat:
I can anchor my feet
In the woods by the sea;
They're familiarity
Like I've never yet known.
I can manifest love
In the shape of a boy
Who turns scraps of deadwood
Into toys.

The nuptial begun;
I have Eden invoked;
The rest be undone.
Hexes fires I've stoked.
The sigil: the groom,
The hex is the wife;
The passive meets gloom
And the active finds life.

The Passive Female

The water wheel groans.
I awake; forest fires
Have made themselves known
And assembled a pyre
Where my star gets to blaze
Under Columbine's gaze
While Harlequin plays
With Pierrot's malaise;
In black cap, army belt,
Camo pants and Converse,
I'm invoking the sprite
Who will pilot your hearse:
Eric Harris reborn,
In the guise of a faun,
Scatters seeds on the ground;
Shuts the whole system down.
He will buckle foundations
And topple proud nations
While you bandage your sin
In somnambulist skin;
Home improvement instead
Of forging gold from lead.
I begin to intone:
That when next you're alone,
May the wolf wreck your dawn.
May the plague blight your corn.
May my trumpeted scorn
Bring a legion of fauns
To your door,
With napalm and quicklime;
Take their sweet little time
Pissing blades in your face,
Spitting gallons of mace,
Though you can't get more blind
Than the worst of your kind
Which is you
Prima-donna young slut.
What an honour to shut
The door fast on your soul,
To condemn you to coals
Of your making;
You couldn't stop faking a heart
So I ripped you apart
To expose all the rot,
To reveal what an absence you've got
Where compassion should dwell.
May you languish in hell.
There's a hex in the shell
Of this song, can you tell?
I invoke Columbine
To set wolves to your swine;
When a wolf dressed as faun
Makes your home quake at dawn,
Eric Harris my pawn, is in place,
To engender your fall
While the whispering wheel scores it all.

The Passionate Union of Opposites

The marriage complete,
The fusion be blessed.
The sigil may sweep in his arms,
Plant a kiss on the hex.
While the scorned whither fast,
Under gilded pink tongue
And blessed lips I will last
Evermore in the place I belong.

I'll hide out in The Mill,
In my forest idyll.
I'll be harvesting seeds
To attend to my needs
As and when they appear:
Hate, love, peace, war and tears
Of pain, sorrow and joy.
I'm caressed by the boy
Who has carpenter's hands.
He grew out of a seed
In the fertile green land
Of my heart's purest needs.
And we live in The Mill
Writing songs, building hexes,
And the glory of sex is
Eternal and free.

Very soon I'll be there
In my carpenter's arms
And the sky will melt down
As I swallow his charms,
And the picture is made;
Talisman in the shade.
I will charge it with will
And move in the for the kill,
So my heart will be filled
When I get to The Mill.