religious relic

anonymous asked:

We are living like Gods in metamorphosis. Twisting like buried roots, shifting like howling skies, the ocean is a carafe full of catechisms and I want to drown in it. It begins on that rosary scattered river. You were crepuscular. You were magik. We practiced astral projection and ate Hungarian goulash on the streets of Prague. It was a fairy kind of magic that you want to ignore the savagery of. (part 1) ***

It was the Dionysian relic of religious fervor and we prayed and prayed pretending we didn’t see the bodies torn by brutes. Cruel the crime, cruel the God, as they say. But what happens when the God is us? I don’t watch the feathers tearing you open from the inside. It is a blessing. It is a gift. Pain is our bodies preparing us for transformation. A thousand pinpricks of blades and you are transfigured into light. Watch your words crystallize like sugar. (part 2) *** 

A man falls from the sky like a powder donut. You think, “Oh, an angel. Oh, he must have wings like mine.” He smashed against the ground like a hand through flour. We pretend we don’t feel his dust on our hair, our eyelashes, our skin. We transmogrify our memories into nightingales. This is why they sing like weeping feels. Who’s to say what creatures we are becoming. My curved claws, pointed teeth, pink scales, and swishing tale. (part 3) ***   

But do I not entrance? Do I not demand your attention? I’m like a monkey balancing pikes of fire atop a red and yellow ball at a circus begging: Love me! See me! Watch me dance with fire blooded death, and win! Watch how hungry I am! Rewards? Why marigold colored coins of course! Is it cheap or is it genius? Tell me how the longing curves in you like fishhooks. I catch myself on desire, on cork, on rusted wire. (part 4) ****  

Do not tell me that I am an animal. Don’t you know? Gods become animals to squelch their suffering. I am a pure white cow. Do not slaughter what you know to be divine. (part 5) *** -Effigy          


. the dead anon poets society .  

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SIX OF CROWS MEME Locations » The Ice Court

“You can’t break into the Ice Court at all.”

The Ice Court wasn’t an ordinary building. It was a compound, Fjerda’s ancient stronghold, home to an unbroken succession of kings and queens, repository of their greatest treasures and most sacred religious relics. It was impenetrable.

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On October 19th, 1851, Marie Thérèse of France–the only child of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette to survive the revolution–died at the age of 72, possibly from pneumonia.

She died only three days after the anniversary of her mother’s execution; in her last hours she was surrounded by her family, religious counsel, and the relics of her parents and aunt Elisabeth; all were executed during her youth.

In her last will and testament she wrote: “I pray God to shower down his blessings upon France—France, that I have never ceased to love even under my bitterest afflictions.”