all photos used in 'fifth sun of the fourth world', courtesy of 'Photos8.com'

       The prophecy was being told for over a millenium. It was because of this that it fell on deaf ears. But the truth was always with us; it was in ours hands, it was on our forehead; but in our being, we rose above ourselves; we reflected what we became, blinded, as we were, to our downfall, we became a race of decadence.

       The spirit became flesh, and to this, we were doomed to suffer the corruption of the flesh.

       The works of our hands became greater and the thoughts within us, more arrogant. In our rise, we also fell; our imagination increasing the greater after.

       In our thought, we could become gods, Kings of the world, and so became, believing that the movements of our hands could exceed that of a greater will, only to result in becoming apprentices to the magicians in the pharoahs court.

       The greater we became, the more we looked to ourselves, and the rape of the will, the agony of false thirst, became a condemning offering.

So, it was, that darkness fell on the world; from the moment our eyes were opened, our destiny was that of a lost tribe.

       Our wandering from the truth has made us elegant and omnipotent; we danced to the song of lies; to a melody of a roaring voice within for which we turn our faces away from an unseen world.

       The tempering of time made the flesh stronger, but the spirit weaker; and that which was called spirit, was that which came from the carnal mind; carnality being the reflection of the knowledge from which humanity thrived.

      The mark was placed on everyone, but not every neck carried the stone, the weigh of which would become heavy with every taken breath, a stone which would eventually become the rock that would break them, even to the corners of the world.
      The many would hope in vain, sacrifice in vain, their lives being lived for the true cause, but always, always, on a road of no redemption.

      How many would come before the few could be?

      The word was always on their lips, but in their hearts, was only pride.
"SEE!", shouted voices, and so we rejoiced, but no sooner had we turned away, we would lose the reflection of who we are; the further away we lived from the truth, the more we lived in our pain, all the while saying, 'life'.
      So began the downfall, for our imagination exceeded ourselves, and through the works of our hands, we created a (Tower of Babel), and in the decline, mankind, the tower of achievement, doomed itself to extinction.
      In the end, there is also a beginning, and we too often never realize that an end is neverending, but a disheartening truth is a truth nevertheless; mankind, it will come to an end, the evidence is all around us; it is the dark truth that we have to live with, because it is, within us; because pride abides also within, and it has deceived us into believing that a lie is a truth. It is because we constantly analize our being and rationalize it, in arrogance, believe that we can learn to understanding.
      But all understanding is deceiving...

"...Armageddon was hidden behind the intricate weave of dissonance and consonance, a melange ceded to the perpetual flickering of a world set to terminate from the onset, seeded by its promised hope, a promise that would fall short of its glory..."

thunder broke the turning hour;

the eyes of the world were opened;

the flesh shocks into terror,
at the sight of the ether turn violent.
the materialize of the specter, without form taking form,
with fire lightning and dark vapor,
a cloak to blot out the sun;
being met into chaos of its mystification,
an error of coercion,

in the course by one degree,
a decree wrought in division.

       Eerie took the world, in the conscience of all, and though the elapse was a moments time, the duration sent fear through every soul; for what they saw was beyond belief, for as every eye could vision, a violence took control of the air.

       Out of the sound of thunder, with fire and dark vapor, the sky drew dark to hide the sun; forming out from nothing, appeared forth, a specter.

       Confusion being caused by its terror, to be led to mistaken conviction.

       In the multitudes of the millinery, being thrust from an unworldly existence, a trans-coder ship, the last of its kind, released back to true essence, again to be heard of; the Cosmic Wind.

       By the passing to long ago, by the pendulous counter, 150,000,000yrs, the Cosmic Wind has endured the state of non-being; banished into a void of nonexistence, the trans-coder flagship becoming the void, in a dimension that surrounds; to be not, without touch, an ascension of questionable tangibility.

       Spatial indifference enfolds beings, as the commander, and the measure of men embark in peril, before the mob of delegation, the value of which to succor from.
       Into entry from an exit, long as perception as waiting, steps follow steps into an alliance unknown.

       Answer coming forth in thrust from metal, to pierce the heart of the captain; the troop falls ill, put forth from false construction; the fever of knowledge replaced by deleterious; the works of God from the hand of man, from the pride of the heart esteemed, a deceptive eye to be leered, in the agony of false thirst.

'Why do they put the aim to us? We have not done them detriment;

our captain, as manifested destiny, has gone, forsaken in fate.'

'Should we not contradict in manner, to take the serum from life?'

'Should we forward look to contend, or consider the fault to contagious?'

'What ill the practice be, the worth of aftermath, and what provide of it the act, except to set the stage to weary end?'

'We deem ourselves for Worth's sake, as travelers from a road unknown, and note our thoughts, to be advised, we, are the infiltration.'

       Thunder filled the ears of those who eyes turned upward, fire lightning and thick dark vapor surrounded the Cosmic Wind, a blurred vision of haze; without pause, without trace, vanished, into the void to seek to convene, away from a world impacted by fear.

       A world in rejoice, united in defeat of the alien opposition, within the churches of the many, rhetoric being made, the "spirit of evil", the "horde of Lucifer" beaten back by the Sword of GOD; the pride of the present, serves only to blind vanity; where of some, left with bitter taste of uncertainty; wisdom being brought together, the collaborators bringing onto a halt, arrogance borne of a new day.

       The telling, set of the soul, was the mantle from which the monstrous would dawn from; evicted of the void, of the perpetual of which surrounds; and that of vision, not to penetrate the veil held against us; the shroud, drawn not, before the advent of all turmoil.

       Trembled at the beheld, as if to be chosen of, cowering of its might in humbleness, there are those who say, the terror could not be spoken of, that the image is left to be said of, the counter of, to peer to ones vanity and turn from the cost of truth.

      The clock ceased at the hour;
the world shook to its foundation;
misery, was its name;
one, two,...three;

the wave encircled the world;

all that was, was no longer.

      The attacks have been coming for as long as I can remember, seems like there was never a time when it was not so; my father would tell me stories passed down from his fathers, of a time when great battles were fought; 400 yrs, war was continual;

"...the revert to war was prophetic scion; the delusion, misgiven of the reverter led to isolation, the defence of many was arrogance and because of this hubris,... war" - renarde;

      "Hell was the mark of the day, malevolence, the emblem of vainglory"; of its scripture, unfolds the fate of a past, the certain date long since lost to sight; the pages of, 2014; eventually, the battles became less, until they became dangerous attacks.

      Within the books of my fathers Triad, there is a bizarre entry,"...the sky turned yellow, a filmlike substance enveloped the world";...anomalous theories promoted consensus of plagues, diseases, fear...mistrust, the seeds to the foundation of the greater evil to come".

"The commission of the triads; though their importance diminished within the 120 years of their appointments, theirs is a saga of a dangerous path, during a time when perserverance became increasingly futile in a world changed; for some, their commission became a "mob", groups that would eventually begin to attack, subdue and control" ; as I contemplate, it seems to have been a natural course.

"would, that the turn move not to full circle; that the trial of truth be not of fools " - renarde

      Not all Triads betrayed their integrity, but, many perished because of mistrust in them, others, like my fathers group, managed to overcome; the epic of the triads are chronicled within the pages of their books.

       Imprinted on a stone wall within the great ruin, a sign of plea; through the course of time, it could still be read;

I am set to break; I will vanish.

If I choose to withdraw,

I will make my space empty;

If I cease to exist;

I will be no more;

the colour of my light will be vacant.

But, the fool is in my stead,

for in a thousand years, would it matter?

If I shake the tree, will it not move?

If I make a sound, will it not be heard?

If I draw a line can it not be seen?

For what my eyes do look upon, others have also;

that which I inhale, I also exhale;

that which I do, I also undo;

I am lost amidst the echoes of a thousand million voices,

and the silent shout of the unheard;

the remembered will be forgotten,

the forgotten will be replaced;

one moment into many moments,

many moments into one;

What is the say of the purpose?

The purpose is to....

13 oct 2013

       The words of lost meaning, passed down from time forgotten; the revelation being obscure, of an event meant to take place 402 yrs ago; yet in the span of that time, something did happen, that which plunged this world into chaos of an unknown origin.

                                            of the dark days

The world will grow dark; the image change drastic;

a voice of lamentation, sings out, to the air;

Dec 21, 2012; the days, they have been set;

A one will come, the name of whose, its meaning, that of Stone;

from the boot, appear he, without number, to his name.

The universal succumb, as he struggles in his walk;

of slings and arrows, of their devise, to thwart hunger, from becoming full.

Many them, of folly, perish, 'cept they whose courage, to the hills, seek;

and of them, all too, would cease, would it not, intervention, of divine, be;

of days, they vanish, as another appears, of whose name, of such, was once before;

the change, of all the kingdoms be,

whence from the right hand of,

rise he.

       In the preexistence, a known world, vague to us, the glory of, interrupted by an event of omnipotence of what is come to be known as the Great Disruption; but of those of today, ignorance is said to be better than knowledge, for knowledge leads to lying vanity....

"We are living in dangerous times, the world has been corrupted; there are those who have subverted the truth, do not fear, for though the flesh defeats the flesh, the spirit will, in the end, overcome; those who have been blinded by their vanity...are beyond redemption".

- Triad Vitrellis

      The pages of the Triad Vitrellis are of the earliest of known, there is no other from which the light shines on to the end of things forgotten; the wages of a world, bought of us in destruction beyond the wake of the price paid; though in secret, a sect reflects, called 'Crisiians', of another come before, and of the chant of the ancients..."Our Father".

      The pages litters of an age, of deep distress, mournful cries of things that cast the shadows of, that render its pages the harder to look upon, of that which is of said, 'a broken cross'.

       The day is tempered, under the rose, of silence known only to stones; within the sanctuary,  enlightenment eventuates the measure of an ever increasing knowledge; the endless writings, in preservation of the pages known of the triads; I ponder, of the multitudes of these pages, where of, would I chance upon to recover the knowledge hidden, incipient to the turn of the world in reject?

       Where in the upper chamber rests all that is known, the recipient glories of new found awareness, in report to recognition of a light to newer sight.

     The shadow surrounds the city of covenant, darkened of light; placing plate upon larger plate in hopes of cornucopia, denying prodigal; all that is made of man is seen from the progeny of pride; the precipice expose of earth.

      I turn to the voice in the world, of a functional with new report; of the origin of 90, the beginnings of the Triads, the count of 270; the legacy of the inheritors, through which the pages which have escaped the purchase of the pendulum, through the diligence of renewal, have knowledge of the pages of 3 Triads; the Triad Vitrellis, the Triad Renarde, and that of my fathers, the Triad Seade; amongst the multitudes of pages upon pages, a passage found, lost to the immensities of renewals, of the 1st Triad, the Triada Iorja.

      Of domain, Ital, the Triada Iorja, as testimonial in witness,..."of the passion of a great leader of faith, "Petra", as known, without numeral, the last of kind; out of the Great Disruption, to feed the crush of tremendous number, by giving up for a price, the mark of status, a conflict of no agree evolved, the manner in which the belligerence brought about an end, in betrayal by assassination".

       Into the journey of a road unknown, forsaken by the cause of fear; a venture filled by mistrust, by the eyes of hearts who seek only to gain. Daringly going onward by the measure of faith, the falsehood that peers from behind the stone, with lean eyes that search, to find the reason to lurch, for a trophy from beyond to possess.

       We lean to ardor to ascend, on the wings of aegis, against deterrent and pass into the mist, like a ghost into the night of its exodus.

       The odyssey determines great wealth of wisdom, to vent odious for fear of taste, in compromise to stay the quest; onto the fields of Ital, the barren, scars of war, the delete of bountiful, the conquered of aggression, in resolve of worth to the matter of.

       In the distance, the mountain commands the shadow as the world turns both here and there; the rapture of the lake of silence, by the nearside, kept secret by the night, in the trace of the scape of pattern.

       For had it not been so, of the turmoil; for all reasoning to show the secret of its chaos, that the world had kept its design; all of vanity, to raise the day, to fill the night, all for the proceeds of an empty harvest.

       Upon the backs of my eyes, the outline of a nature once great, sits before me, in silence, weeping before the desire of once was. The silhouette of a tree marks the gray of the mist, a watchtower that clings, by its roots, to the place of its end; its birth, a passing shadow.

       The wind cometh, the wind goeth, swirling through the leaves that clap in celebration, at the sight of a new signal arriving.

       The day is long; rest under the arms of the tree of the mist offers shelter as we bind together to knot the covering from the wind.

       In the night, Timios Tri, answers the question, "In the matter of, the better would, though, to begin the day with trek of different paths", to which I offered, "to stay the path without separate until the meet of first decision"; the reply of, goes to Dematis Tri, "Of which?"; in passive contemplation, my response, "a say of word of the pages of Triada Iorja.

       Timios Tri, "yes".

       Dematis Tri begs, "sleep".

       The images of the night betrays me; into the gate, of the village of the city, appearing, as an opened sepulcher, the sight of which disturbs me; upon the wall, a name written, of which I know of, yet hidden from grasp; less in compassion, so pronounced, the evils of heart, the world has not known of a time not so; a world of naked sin.

       On the down slope, Dematis Tri, "Does the whispers of the night trace unto the day?"; into the distance, my eyes perceive, "foreboding jeers the path set of us forewarn".

       "The light of guide does seek a tremendous portion", Timios Tri, of apprehension built, "but, the way is less of light to reverse".

       This, to which, we observe.

       The pace quickens, of stern determine, acknowledgment to the city of tears; "touched to the earth, felled stars mingle, the pour of resentment",  in my thoughts convened.

"What of repentance is of repentance, if to repent for fears sake, in singleness of faith, in the wait of time, corrupts willful, the language of spirit?" - Triad Seade.

       In the window of the soul, the performance of intent disguises not; in the lack of, the beauty is illusion, for the will of fear, in the tainted of living death; the surround of the spirits of the city, impact of point delivers not, the downfall exists too long within; the open question submits to the solid stare of fixed watch.

       For the anger of, in the show of appetite for blood, three sisters excruciating intense of an offense unknown to us.

       "Does cruelty append to appeasement?", Dematis Tri, in distress; Timios Tri supplicates, "Do not cause to suffer to be persuade upon .

       Fire sets within the eye of demeanor as demagogues conspire to look onward.

       I mourn, "Shadows cast not the form, the form casts the shadow, and when the sun rises, where is inclination; does the wane blind, thereof, the legion?

       "Who are, that would betray us?", the soul of fire inveighs; of rejoin, is Timios Tri, "We are of Triads!"

       Behind the mask, comfort to agonize is a self design not kept well in the hand; to gaze intently at ones own reflection determines a vanity too great to endure; emptiness shown through the eyes.

       "Triad!", the tongue burns hatred at the sound of! The riotous throng against the three, a greater evil to set upon them; the raised hand, urge to attack, striking blows to commit butchery, to cede to the common.

       Timios Tri, succumbs to his knees, the two defending in guard; the shouts of the strong, overcomes the weak, the favor of grace gone.

       The air reverberates in a shout of authority, "Cease!"; the power of her command weighs above them in their stillness of obedience; the empowerment of her stride opens pathway, "So,..Triads?"

       I looked upon the face of an off shade, "We are...";

       "Silence!", she turned, "follow"; saying to one bowed, "bring", of no compassion, in the look of disgust, "...that one"; Timios Tri, was carried after.

       Though her sway demands attention, the emphasis of power is yielded to another as the radiance of face fades; within the opulence of chambers, metamorphose the face to an other; to be face of face with one.

       The daughter of Helen leans; the carrier of report submits; with vacant eyes, "Your tri is dead"; in silent disbelief, the presence of yesterday, I shoulder to be of different future.

       The spirit of uncaring eyes hold no relief for affliction. Plead comes to no avail, but of indignant response, "Meat of carrion".

       Struggle ends with force of strikes; I bow my head, with closed eyes in torment, of an image of a mortal reflection; wisdom strains, be still, the haughtiness being looked of by the eyes of a different Gorgon.