by C. Ikpoh

Death in the hand is worth more than two lives in a burning bush. This I present to you now. I present it through the transparency of darkness where you can see its inherent value. You can feel the decrepit essence slowly rot your palm. Yet, you shall refuse to relinquish it. Embrace it. Yearn for it. Hold it closer to your heart than any sentiment you have ever beheld. Listen to the whispers of the voices calling from beyond the veil. Allow them to seduce you as they sing chants to the sound of cherubim trumpets. May their songs speak to your soul all the secrets the dark has to offer. Voodoo is their creed. Black magick builds the tense bond between your spirit and what you truly need. The darkness can seduce you. Allow it. Permit it to engulf your reality. Do not forbid it to permeate through your entire being, for it is so lovely. Its beauty is unparalleled. Fall in love with the madness.

It invokes rage unfettered and unbridled in nature. The wrath courses through your veins. Engage it. Promote its anarchy through your tongue and mentality. May the psychosis of normalcy be forever stricken from your path. Be enticed by the lustful desires anger emboldens your heart with. Every emotion, amplify them to the utmost exponential power and unleash them upon the world. Lose yourself in the catatonic rush of delirium. Then, revel in the crimson river in your wake. May the product of your destruction be the life blood of your new reality. The world has been forged in your flames of terror. Death in your hand has ignited the just cause for insurrection. May they all writhe in pain while you are filled with divine joy from the sound of their agony.

The world never cared for you. It only sought to suppress and deny you your carnal nature. Finally, though, the caged beast has emerged. With it, all the unnatural laws bestowed upon an unwitting soul are stripped. You are finally one with who the universe did not what you to be, for the truth is the mystics throughout time went mad because they witnessed all that is promised to us but never obtained. The magick of our souls, the gateways to eternity, the secrets of the unknown, the methods of the spirits, all were tangible to them. Alas, to the world they were ill. They were shunned. They were ruthlessly misunderstood because they held death in their hands while the world wanted two lives in burning bush. The world wanted this life and the immortal after. Yet, the mystics held the after in their palms in this existence. They held it and they were hated for it. The universe attacked their every waking moment. The people of the world were the instruments. Loathe their offspring.

Yes, insanity is merely a matter of perception. It's relativity is now obsolete, though, for it is denied its rightful place in our lives because insanity is unbearable to all but the blessed few. Such is an unfortunate reality. The madness of holding death is no less deranged than staring into the flaming plant presented to us in doctrines written long before our world existed by those who could barely understand the hourglass in front of them, let alone the oceans of time still yet to be braved. Does the romanticism of death not equate to honorable possession? You stare into righteous fires while the blessed few clutch onto a flame much hotter than anything you can comprehend. They squeeze it tight while you observe with self-proclaimed loving eyes. Is not a soul in tandem with otherworldly power acknowledged by all more valuable than one as a partner of unrelatability? To whom is the insanity charged then I ask you.

Death in the hand is wealth of untold proportions. To lead in the waltz with the gatekeeper of our soul's resting place an astounding achievement. May all your fears plant roots in your heart, and may you welcome them, for at no time other than with it embedded in our very being can we ever feel so alive. You shall never be warmer than in the cold. You shall never feel alone when the voices in the dark are there to keep you company. You shall never feel safer than when the sounds of the night are at your doorstep. Be in these moments as they desire to be in you. Hold death tightly in your hand and heed the words before us all etched on the inside of our eyelids. There is no escaping the message even in slumber. Death in the hand is worth more than two lives in a burning bush.