Mystic Violence of the Astral Flame

Admitting Falsehood (Origins) World dies as he grows – And no tears under the Marble Mask, A stoic demon, this Oriax,  Who floods the righteous with emotion; Some even consider him a god,  Deriding and sanctimonious; Only the blind could see it this way, Pursuing its shadow through the cracks . . . The man shudders:  Flash of a room, bed and chair, Behind the eyes, in a torture chamber; Veiled proximity, all at once revealed. Begetting suicide, burning it to the ground,  Embers going out in the dead mask’s gaze – A new light emits in its place, Triumphal stare of silver and gold,  Observing the man’s brutal transformation . . . The man knows a demon when he sees it, Dripping pride wherever it goes – No gateway to its mind, no word for its heart, Yet here stands its visage, remote but urgent; Chaotic, yet seemingly unchanged, Until the Marble Mask falls, And the silent question is answered.