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Nod, Hinterlands
"To know, to will, to dare, to be silent."

Upcoming Events- All are Welcome

Upcoming Events- All are Welcome
Susurrus Din visits Dr. Chis Radio Horror Radio Horror Show, 91.3 WCUW Sunday, March 14th,12-2:30 am, Worcester, MA

~ Book Release ~

~ Book Release ~
Mendicant of the Hidden, Votary of the Sepulcher. A newly released work of dark poetry inspired by the Masters of the Macabre, Gothic Horror, Ancient Myth/Folklore and containing recent thanatological photography. Now available at Red Emma's, Minas Gallery, Read Street Books, Normals Books and Records,Baltimore Chop, Amazon,, and

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Damnatio memoriae

Tide of Reaping

None were in wont,
As all manner of viand did the earth offer forth,
In matchless plentitude.

Pestilence nor sword wert no master,
wizened they became,
by the years swift passage.

So alike the gods were they,
Twas in repose alone,
they became,
Spirit guardians for their brethren

Under Saturn’s hand, prosperity flourished all told,
These were the times, in the times of Gold

Tide of Sowing

Centurion child,
Toil wilt thou taste.

Against thy brother, against the wilds,
for your fare, ye shall now contest.

Jupiter decrees
Death shall be your lot,
For the worship ye denied.

By the north sun that scorches,
By the tempest, thy flesh wilt quiver
These were the times, in times of Silver

Tide of Destroying

Bore of ashen sprig,
No bread they took,
In bronze all was rendered thus

To the very hearts housed in their chests,
Hades became their abode when they did fall,
Hades of the lash and of the bonds,
These were the times, in times of Bronze

Glory was won, when armies took the field
Mingling the blood of the brave,
With the tear of maid and babe hadst her sorrow too
War was made to live in peace, it mattered not the banner,

They were to march under- impassioned or stoic,
These were the times, in times Heroic.

Hardened men were these,
To the sufferings of the common lot.
The coin was the quarry,
Their gain, and sole end
The few wert preserved, ‘pon the lives of the dying,
These were the times, in times of Iron.

Tide of sowing,
Tide of reaping,
Tide of destroying,
and that for the plan.

What times draw near,

in this our hour given-

art we to sleep or wilt we waken?

Tide of Planning

Dispossessed of the golden times,
we can not hope to regain,
No more than we may vivify those scores aforementioned,
once slain

Hence, look not to the stars, prophecy, or other portents.
Destinies are wrought by the acts of thee and thine
As much as by the hand of time,

As it was for our forebears of yon,
So shall it be for our heirs to come.