The Twisted Nails of Faith

(For if I shall see thy will be done)
 (Grant me the Witchcraft of thy tongue)
 Three moondials froze in the shadow of six
 As another soul passed to the grasping styx
 Clutching their trinket crucifix
 Bats blew from eaves in a dissonant surge
 Omens of corruption from within the church
 A fetid, dank oasis still clung to fool rebirth
 Alone as a stone cold altar
 The castle and its keep
 Like faerytale dominion rose
 A widow to the snow peaks
 Wherein reclined the Countess
 Limbs purring from the kill
 Bathed in virgin white and like the night
 Alive and young and unfulfilled
 Was it the cry of a wolf
 That broke the silver thread of enchanted thoughts?
 Of Her life as a mere reflection
 As the moon's in narrow windows caught
 That opened like dark eyelids on
 The sigh of the woods that the wind fell upon
 Like a Siren weaving song
 From the lilt of choirs choking
 Where the vengeful dead
 Belong
 To the Sorceress and her charnel arts
 She swept from ebon towers at the hour of Mars
 'Neath a star-inwoven sky latticed by scars
 To unbind knotted reins that kept in canter, despair
 Shod on melancholy, fleet to sanctuary there
 In netherglades tethered where onyx idols stared
 Was it the kiss of the mist
 That peopled the air with the prowess of absinthe?
 Lost souls begging resurrection
 From Gods upon their forest plinths
 Whose epitaphs read of re-ascending to win
 Remission from despair through a holocaust of sin
 In a tongue hilted in invective rectums
 Over signs and seals the sorceress prayed
 To Death, to rend the slender veil
 That Ancient Ones might rise again
 As shadows swelled
 The Countess fell
 To masturbating with her dagger
 As the Witch gabbled spells
 Cumming heavy roses all the way to Hell
 As sudden thunder's grue harangue
 Announced two pincered worlds
 Exuding bane, something came
 With the stench of necrophiled graves
 To these clandestines
 Who shrank from glimpsing horror
 That the growls of mating ghouls inclined
 Resplendent
 In pendants
 Natal trophies torn from bellies of desanctified nuns
 A demon, bewinged, bedight
 In scum, prowled their circle seeking entry to run
 An arctic tongue upon her vulva
 Where rubies smeared to alabaster thighs
 Glittered like a contract in the purse of a whore
 Receiving sole communion from the body of Christ
 (If blood is what thou craves, foul fiend)
 (I will yield this witch to thee)
 (If thou wouldst draw a veil for me)
 (O'er lengthening scars of age and grief)
 As the Demon slavered foetid vows
 And bore his prey away
 In talons itching to perpetrate
 The nausea of eternal rape
 The Sorceress screaming in his grasp
 Spat a final curse to stain
 The Countess with the promise
 That her Lord at war would be cruelly slain
 And she would rot alone
 Insane
 On the twisted nails of faith
 On the twisted nails of faith
 On the twisted nails of faith