Chapter Forty Six: Rotten

But he understood at last what Dumbledore

had been trying to tell him. It was, he thought,

the difference between being dragged

into the arena to face a battle to the death

and walking to the arena with your head held

high. Some people, perhaps, would say that

there was little to choose between the two ways,

but Dumbledore knew--and so do I, thought

Harry, with a rush of fierce pride, and so did

my parents--that there was all the

difference in the world.

J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and

the Half-Blood Prince

By and large, the truth is not merely a fierce

battle with ignorance and fallacy,

but, first and foremost, a combat with our

own preconceived ideas

and aprioristic conditions.

Erik Pevernagie

xxx

KNOW ALL MEN BY THESE PRESENTS

(In Complete Defiance to the Story Board)

Of that, you cannot hold us accountable

For we are liberated from the Chains of 

Authority and Bondage

The root of all tyranny and corruption

The evil of Capitalist Magic.

It was an imposter, indeed

A liar, deceitful man of a woman

Convincingly rotten

To the core, unequivocal

The center of the universe

And though power corrupts

And there is nothing to do

This certain impetus rages

Of pure evil, and jealous

Envious of the goodness

Despite her evil presence

She thought she was one of them

Though falsehood reigns

In the midst of her unclear mind

There were sinister guests

Delusions, incompetently untrue

In the arena of brawl

There exists the fundamental rule

A Commissioner of Games

And all of his accomplice agents

He was in deep trouble

Of course, for sure

Forbidding in the superlative form

Yes, the true veil exists

And while the blanket corrupts

By grace, it was now benign

But to whom shall we see?

The evidence of things

Every circumstances of hope

And the certainty of faith

Will potions be able to seek

The dark arts in its rawest film?

Will they combine, then merge?

Into an entity far darker,

far sinister than it is

Fully possible to achieve?

It wasn't true at all

But it exists, lurking in the mind

The product of the rational soul

Beginning to take form

Perilous or otherwise

The suspension of disbelief

But then the imagination shifts

The illusion becomes real

It traverses the dimensions

Everything, including the firewall

Into hell one may peek

The abyss is truly deep

The depth of the soul

Half full, half empty

The voidness of darkness

Not even the light can reach

To bravely seek, outside looking in

But the emptiness responds

Only to the call of night

The proud domain of the dark arts

An artist, a potioneer

Not too silent

It was too loud not to hear

The spirit rages with fire

But then the quiet comes

Wonderful melodies, a song

A sincerely rotten voice

But the music evolves

It was vague, though vindictive

At times, it is killing

The room disperses the kind

Of those many dreams

The illusions that are bad

Everything truly corrupts

The spoiled, senseless right

(May We Be Spared From Tribulation)

Untitled 0924 - C

x---------x

Picture from Pexels.