Henosis

The Walled Equinox Son of the three whites, Blaze of divine rage, luster of innocent thighs, and coat of cloven eros.

He knew only the darkness of designs and desires.

Misery flowed within the bed of his primal brutality, As blood flowed from the cup of his almighty hands.

What a strange thirst for a red he could not see, What a strange hunger for a substance he could not graze.

Asterion yearned for the stars in drunken despair.

He tore flesh with embraces beyond measure.

In the labyrinth, the silence screamed.

The ashlar stone told him of absurd plains, The dead danced for him the joy of absence.

Sun-dried mud affection extinguished the last glimmers of Pasiphaë, A remnant of reason awaited the sword aimed at sorrow. No man's chest could contain the solitude dwelling in a bull's heart. Its vast chambers extend the echo of oblivion amid orphaned pulses.

Dance of the seven waves and the seven winds, his wings cradled the dew point.

The single eye of brutality has no depth, but rage is blind.

Spiders weave the silk of legends. Polyphemus covers his face.

Hands that once rolled boulders are now powerless to hold the stolen light.

Beyond Cape Howls, the Devourer of Worlds hails black holes. On the ghostly arachnid canvas, Charybdis’s craving guts the sea.

The darkness of its throat answers the brightness of the heavens. Its foaming maw devours all beings—save the one it spat back out.

The beast of the deep offers neither respite to the sailor nor a face to his terror. Let your soul sink into its abyss. Of tears and foam, let the two salts meet. For it calls only to those who trace their wake on inner seas.

Myth lives. Haunting the moons of her pupils, truth eclipses their orbit of bone. When gazes align, she breathes stone into man.

On Sarpedon, Medusa reflects her still heart in chests inert.

Perhaps her victims share the devastation of her inner lands. Perhaps the hideousness lies not in the cracks of her flesh, but in the outrages it has suffered.

Beyond the cross, stigmata repel. Before them, heads turn and lips twist. Beheading the green trauma relieves the eyes but sows its return.

Does the severed horror preserve the world, or does the severed pain preserve its illusion?

Beware the Gorgon’s spring tides; they crash over souls, hissing with fury.

Your limestone body could adorn her fossil garden with a new flower of silence.

Within, the dragons dwell.

Thymos is the manifestation. His name echoes timelessly: θυμός (thymos) — temper.

Shrouded in ghostly spider silk, the dark, primal figure of Thymos appears to erupt with fury—evoking a moment of chaos, the point where tension culminates, and wounds outweigh healing.

"My experience or my theater? My pain or my rage?"

Within, the dragons dwell.

Katharos is the way. Her name echoes timelessly: καθαρός (katharos) — cleansing.

Shrouded in ghostly spider silk, the dark, primal figure of Katharos appears to dive upon its prey—evoking a moment of cleansing—when the monster slays the monster, and creation arises from the ashes of annihilation.

"My relief or my obsession? My purification or my absence?"

Within, the dragons dwell.

Semas is the voice. Her name echoes timelessly: σῆμα (sēma) — sign, mark.

Shrouded in ghostly spider silk, the dark, primal figure of Semas appears to roar in defiance—evoking a moment of liberation—the restoration of meaning, poised between the threat of what will be and the tranquility of what once was.

"My soul or my ego? My word or my conquest?"

Within, the dragons dwell.

Apodoch is the source. Her name echoes timelessly: ἀποδοχή (apodochē) — acceptance.

Shrouded in ghostly spider silk, the dark, primal figure of Apodoch appears to take flight—evoking a moment of release, when tension begins to subside and a dual force emerges, capable of both destruction and creation.

"My deliverance or my indulgence? My fulfillment or my excess?"

Within, the dragons dwell.

Teichor is the guardian. Her name echoes timelessly: τεῖχος (teîkhos) — rampart.

Shrouded in ghostly spider silk, Teichor appears to face the unknown—evoking a moment of determination when the time comes to face deep-seated fears, in a delicate balance between protection and harm.

"My refuge or my cage? My strength or my sanctuary?"