The Froedi - The Doom of the King

Great Horus, Master of War, he who strides across the field with not haste;
Wolfs that hunger not, pack leader slowly approaches with confidence;
Aurochs fall before the wolf dire, mouth clenches ‘round fatal and all fed.
This approach, silent, unending, provides death in saving light, void unknown;
So also does Horus protect men. Discordia comes with chaos fit
Fated Cilicians, corsairs of Mithras, binding one, who rises forth
To prepare the redemption of him, Adam, fallen, yet living
Perhaps at the end of Darkness plunged, living spirit builds structure,
Liberation from force demonic, Mithras calls Cilician fortitude.
Underneath the streets of Ostia, Rome, worship gathers among the crypts;
The solstice requires offering. Swords brought out, the city burns nightly;
Sabatoge the war fleet is no more, none follows, new coasts to behold.

Antiochus Tryphon, half-brother of the king, sea wolf of alabaster skies;
Typhoon of Neptune leaves no fear for he who rules under Mithras’ message;
Two senators captive, hostaged by Tryphon, died among the waves’ crest;
Alexandria’s haven, Brucheum, nigh, wearied fugitive rest;
Discordia speaks aloud, mirror shouts missive, reception miscarriage;
Twenty-fifth day carries on, Army of Arsinoë, guarded by Horus steel.
To the west, journeys care, Tryphon evades outright for the desert wind;
Revolution, quest for thrones, he waits for answers, Mithraeum deep below;
This coast a house of secrets ancient, order descension through deathly fear.

First, Corax, the Raven, a puzzle set apart. beakers drip, deluge;
Stars align, a counterforce applied repulsion of agents foreign.
A salve for wounded hearts aglow with sickly flame, a balm forgets of death;

Second, Nymphobus, crowned alive in matrimonial garb, veiled;
The beauty of the bell rings in ears, modern cross not brought for bearing;
Little hands united in wreaths with no claim to parentage; orphanage.
Mystery of lights below, a glow of homely warmth, key and deceive.

Third, Miles, old one alert, wakefulness against weakness drawn hand, soldier;
Triply shielded of all fortunes, the wall, the barrier, the block, receive;
Rhythm only apparent to the sleeping. Belt, spear, soul, arcadia;
Vaulted dome echoes the drums and chants of dead practitioners; say the word
Granted by mortality and a life’s ending proud, tangled web of fate.



Fourth, Leo, smoked in fragrant essences aloft, famine sacrificed oracle;
Horus, the Hunter, engaged at invocation’s cries, daughters enshrined.
Orpheus, from beyond the gates weeps for great betrayal strikes unaware.
A liturgy processes through the hall, the grateful sistrum a vessel;
A hand reaches down from above bright and forthcoming, a sanctum delight;
Thunder hails down with the spark of primordial life, twisting boughs of trees.

Fifth, Perses, keeper of knowledge, planetary systemics proper;
A cap free, in speech, in deed, unbound. Dagger under tunic within reach;
Free association in undying organization, just and fair;
Beware! Cosmic forces rip asunder, pressure to wield, not to yield.
Masterful in the harvest moonlight, stealthy in action, slights;
Feeding the sheep base grain for assassination, sickle caps bring no light.
Usurpation at the hilt of a silver knife, a slit and it’s over.

Sixth, Heliodromus, a banquet feast, slaughtered bull carpet, blood rain pool;
Twin snakes uphold the altar of Sol unconquered. Torches alight in dance
Serpents falling from the lion’s mouth, two fangs together in harmony;
Fallen souls aflutter, elicited merriment, final departure;
Few of calibre remain for festivities, solemn devotional;
Four seasons, four wings, four figures, a room diamond, variant tools of craftsmanship;
Shrines of compass point, robed pilgrims on global ventures, a standard of light;
Icons of the ancient line, walls depicting the story’s endless cycle.

Seventh, Phiale Distinct, cave without dampness, antechamber destined.
Nine altars spread evenly along the crypt, the centerfold a coffin;
A sarcophagus grand, a single throne stationed above in kingly glory;
A monolith, a skeletal facsimile, bound by flax, woven rope;
Sceptre in garnet hand, chasuble draped forward, blown by a bitter wind.
Black metallic hair in nineteen perfect braids, each with lamps fading contrast;
The apricious touch from the light gives form to regal promises of dust;
Pillars of granite depict scenes of histories long forgotten by even the immortals;
The passage spirals ever downward in relays of time lost eternal.















Tryphon here relinquished his hope of fame everlasting;
A mystery greater than the pantheons of heroes might descend;
A relic, however, lay at the feet of the tomb, a lost book of lore.
The grimoire now in his hands, the Ring of Solomon, a new age become;
Aerials summoned down returned Tryphon to the surface, influence yield;
Metamorphosis of character, corsairs submit to their fallen king;
From the ruins across, he spread his will as a plague. Calamity;
As the vermin of the field consumes unhindered, biting with razors;
Devouring all that gives Hamegin, the binding principle, creation;
The destruction of ten-thousand cuts, a torturous reunion, gave all.
This also the heart of Tryphus, as he marched east to Alexandria.
Horus the elder, God of Light, met the darkness in the mourning city;
Here, opposites collide, by the edge of the river folded, torn apart;
A messenger brings a second missive, a poem from nowhere;
Upon recitation, the power of the grimoire is canceled.
The sands opened up and swallowed rancid Tryphus whole with a final resolve.

Few wars of the mortals and immortals shift the cosmic power structure.
Between the tomb and the eastern rampart, where he who pours the water dwells;
Herald of Nyx, reborn betwixt, firstborn to reappear in sorrow.
Even the Gods wish to change their fate...