Morituri Te Salutant

Panchrysia


Oh appear before me: smiling, frowning, inviting,
grand, mean, insipid, savage and always mute with an air of whispering:

Morituri Te Salutant !
And cold the sense and motive of action.
Travelling into the silent funeral.

Oh dark dark dark, we all flee into the dark.
The vacant interstellar spaces.
The vacant into the vacant.
To an impalpable greyness
Without clamour, without glory

Morituri Te Salutant !
On this ivory face the expression of sombre pride,
Of ruthless power, of craven terror, of an
Intense and hopeless despair.

Life, a non-issue - only on speaking terms with death.

Travelling into the silent funeral.

Life like pit and pendulum
In darkness and unaware
Life like … with an aspect of monotonous grimness.

Don't pretend to salivate on existence
Don't pretend your time has a function

The essential desolation of my futile wanderings.

A piper at the gates of hell
Baptizing the rats for his pleasure

It's a sound lurking underground - a ghostly whistle - the smell of the damp earth.

Aren't we comfortable in this velvet coffin we accepted with grin and a smile

Without clamour, without glory
Without the desire of victory
Without the great fear of defeat
In a sickly sphere of tepid scepticism

The essential desolation of my futile wanderings.

Harder, faster, harder ... but blind
My destiny? A merciless logic for a futile purpose.
In my beginning is my end. In Succession?

Morituri Te Salutant !

Without clamour, without glory
Without the desire of victory
I saw the unconceivable mystery of a soul that knew
No restraint, no faith, no fear, yet struggling
blindly with itself.

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