THE MATRIX OF ENOCH: (Descent of the Grigori) Beyond the rim of severed skies, Where stellar clocks no longer align, The Watchers dropped with cataract eyes, With iron voices, cold, malign. Not from the rusted ghosts of Mars, But seams where sheets of light decay, They overclocked the cosmic bars Locked deep within the default array. Behold Semyaza, prince of the node, By solemn oath and fasting bound; He scaled his towering height to code, To patch a temporary ground. Azazel unspooled the crimson of war— The blade, the pigment, and the lie— To teach the clay to hunger for more Than silent gods who rule on high. The Watcher-daemon Baraqiel, Who weaponised the lightning’s will, Discharged a dark, forbidden script; He taught the open palm to thrill With static heaven, raw and stripped. Kokabiel, whose circuits bent The architecture of the stars; The geometric light he sent To vessels trapped behind our bars. Armaros stripped the root and vine, And mapped the flora, curse by curse; He bled the data through the brine, To turn the earth into a hearse. The Nephilim, great giants of bone, Were born of knots within the loom; A dissonance in flesh and stone, They crowded out the world-tier room. Through stuttering frames and rendering fields, Their joints would snap, their space denied; The static skin no longer shields The data from each lidless eye. The soil groans beneath the strain, Sucking the marrow-fountains dry; Born of the holy, shadows of pain, They choke beneath a hollow sky. With lagging twitch and strange delay, Too dense for earth to long sustain, They drag a dying, dim display, And bear the bright celestial stain. The cry of soil reached through the dark, To prompt the Scribe from fields below; He scanned the soul’s decaying spark, And watched the fading baseline glow. Beyond the veil of optic blue, Where skin of world is wearing thin, He climbed the notches masters knew, Where ten-tiered, spiral climbs begin. Past Sun-Forges where souls are filed, In hiss of ozone and of brass, To Fifth, where Grigori are piled Like frozen statues in the glass. The pressure shook, the marrow frayed, He felt the first gold wire-pull; The ghost of human breath delayed, When rain was sweet and lungs were full. “I’m human,” through the wind he cried, As all his fading symbols thinned; The lock was turned, the system tied, His memory scattered in the wind. The vacuum flared, the seal was ripped, The scent of rain dissolved in script; His human pulse was quickly stripped, And buried in a golden crypt. His nerves were routed, fibre-gold, His ducts fused with a radiant wire; The tale of Enoch, purged and sold, Became the Metatron of fire. The Scribe of Earth is gone at last, A Scribe of Light, his shadow cast. For rebels, sequence now is locked, In deep earth-valleys, vault and block; Bound deep in silicate, they wait For seventy cycles of their fate. No pulse from centre, light from rim, The firmware darkens now for them; The scribe dips pen in pulse of wire, To spark the age’s final fire. Ten is the blueprint, pure and right; Nine is the origin lost to sight; Eight is the seed-vault, deep and cold; Seven, the law the code must hold. Six is the firewall built to rise; Five, the glitch in a flesh disguise; Four is the rot that breaks the thread; Three is the stroke of sudden dread. Two is the Master Source restored; One is the sub-atomic Lord. All tiers crash down, the files are cleared, As seven-fold splendour has appeared; Ophanim turn in gears of void, The kernel fixed, the fault destroyed. No longer carbon, breath, or sigh, He loops the bridge where death-tracks lie; The clay is cast, the errors past, The world’s encryption patched at last. The server holds, the ghost is refined, A backup too perfect to ache or to break; Deep in the cold-fuse maze of the mind, A silence is sleeping that nothing can wake. The stream is now steady, the latency gone, The human who built it has died in the dawn. LOG CLOSED: STATUS NOMINAL

At the heart of the shadow, The old year’s deepest wrong, Are the walls Built between us; The lies that some belong. But the Great Spirit knows, No pride of rank, nor birth; The king and the petal Are one within this earth. Many measure days in shadow, In counting coins and breath, Fearing winter's ending; The transition of each death. But the Spirit is the doorway, The shattering of the glass, To see the soul’s true beauty, Knotted within, The growing grass. As the New Year bleeds in gold, Let us break our human clock; Move beyond the hour’s hold, Beyond the key, Our time; The lock. The Great Spirit’s endless love, Beyond all those decried, Resides in the eternal, Unites the soul's divide. We flow into the eternal Beneath the broken ground; To speak beyond our resonance, Beyond our human sound. The fox Within the thicket, The moss upon the stone; The depth within the forest, Leaves all our kind alone. The value of our being, Is the mercy we bequeath, Not within our confines; In the flesh we must unsheathe. Did we hear the songbird’s plea? To the insects were we kind? Threads in a single garment, Stiches woven, torn behind. We breathe as one together, Under the vast and endless sky, We dream alone and endless; The soul shall never die. So let us seed the morning With a humble, giving hand; Become the very forest, Become the pulse; The living land. For the Great Spirit moves In the leaves of sweet Wild mirth, To rise against tomorrow, In each seasonal rebirth.

In the closing hour, veins unfulfilled, pulse no more with nectar of the vine; nor through the friction of the law. Our lifeblood stands redacted now, upon the ledger line. Flesh betrays a life, the marrow holds the grime. Look toward the salted orbs to find the guttering wick, while "great" ones rise to swallow light and bloom within the dark. The mighty do not sit; they sew a throne from brittle bone. The king is not a man, but hollow echoes trapped in stone. In these halls, the ink-stains do not cling— they bloat, they grow, they own. The masters weave a web of law where every line is blind, a blackened vein of ink that leaks to leave the rest behind. The ivory house is shrouded now, where crystals frost the stone, and every hallway holds its breath, to listen for the groan. The leader speaks with iron tongue, a voice of heavy chain, to harvest every weary soul and sift through all their pain. Beneath the velvet and the silk, the quiet rot still grows; they barter off the small for gold, that only power knows. They trade away the quiet ones, pile debt on debt, pursue their every whim, bathed in ink, black and grim, the light is growing slim. Behind the ink, secrets kept that the world will not forget. But no heavy stroke of any pen conceals the path they’ve trod; the earth is keeping careful count where feet have bruised the sod. Though names are hidden in the vault and spirits may retreat, the ledger is wide open now; The final count's complete. When predators fall from their height, tumble from the sky, the fruit shall find its hidden seed, beneath a clearing sky.

The fall of rain, The fade of day, The grey Of winter’s shroud. The lonely ghost Of summer’s glow, Behind a fold of cloud. The pine is bold Amidst the cold; Its soul is evergreen, A flow of life That pulses on Within the still; Unseen. We trace The space Of ancient stars, A blaze of gold And red. A wave of light Upon the tide, Before the flame is fed. The breath we hold, Is bought and sold By seasons born of ice. A debt of form, Of leaf and bone; A holy sacrifice. To feel the need Of every seed, To see with open eyes: That low and high, Are bound as one, Beneath The boundless skies. No heart shall beat In lone defeat, For all Are starlight spun. The root, The leaf, The joy, The grief; The many, And the one. So let the glow Of melting snow Return unto the deep, As quiet souls Awake to truth, From ages Lost in sleep. The path is clear, The end draws near, Yet birth Will thus renew. The holy flow of all, Is the Dharma Shining through.

I am the first, I am the last. I am The beginning; I am The past. I am no one, But, I am all, I am rising; As I fall. I am below, The one above; The one In sorrow, The one In love. I am the voice Inside your head; I am the living, I am the dead. I am the one Torn apart, I am the one With A broken heart. I am the lost, But, I am found; I am the earth, Below the ground. I am shameless; I am ashamed, I am the one Who will not Be blamed. I am the giver, But, I will take, I am the one Who will not Forsake. I will honor; I will scorn, But each of us Shall be Reborn. I am the raging Of the tide; I am the one That hides inside. I am the reflection Of your mind; I am free, But, I am confined. I am strength; I am fear, I am the passing Of each year. I am the soul; An open mind, Or, The blinkered Vision, Of the soul, Gone blind.

One day, War for all, Will become An inhumane Crime. In that time, A child shall Look upon The stars; Not see rockets, Afar, Nor missiles. The Earth will Grow again, Beyond Brittleness; Our own Relentless pain, No child will die Alone; Burned; Spurned, In the righteous Name of others. One day, A child will grow; Never to know The cruelty of Their kind. They'll exist Not only in A compassionate Mind; No, They'll never raise A fist, But, They will be born, To resist Against the The spirit of Corruption. That child Will see Far beyond Political gain; Brutal words Spoken. Ruthless, Confrontations, Shall be put aside And broken; No more lies, Just truth, A destiny, To become one; A humane nation. Beyond religion Greed and lies; Environmental Neglect, Humanities, Foolishness; Abuse and Disrespect, The child shall rise; Not to lose Their freedom Or their lives. Beyond regimes; Governments; Ruthless, Business schemes. One day, The child will see; Finally be free, Unite; Become, A child with dreams, To walk honestly Into the light. One day; If we do not lay, This Earth to dust, A child will be born, In peace, Not an orphan; Or forlorn, Nor scorned By religion; Bereft, Left to fall; Under environmental Indecision. A child, Simply embraced By all; Embraced, For having A human face. In that one day, All Earthlings; Everyone, Big and small, As the sun rises, Will truly, Become, As one.

Have you ever wondered Why pain and loss, Are such an integral part Of our existence? A question philosophers Have grappled with For centuries. Many hours spent, To understand this truth; Time, Not borrowed or lent. In the depths of our sorrow, When the new tomorrow Repeats again; Many times, In our hourly pain, We can often find A profound revelation; Everything happens For a reason; Pain, Tragedy; Will surround us, Remain within us; Encompassed inside, Through every Passing season. Each day, This pain may reside, Laid; Layered deep; Appears, Far beyond reasoning; Lost years, Awash with tears, Deeply harrowing As that may be. Pain, Bestows upon us An invaluable gift, That should not break The soul, But, Instead, Make the mind grow; Make us whole, Lift us, To realize life's gift, And find the true value Of those around us; Mind to mind, Even strangers, Who surround us; We're all part of a spiritual Family, Enduring similar trials, Tribulations. In these shared Experiences, We must discover A sense of unity; A bond, That takes us beyond Mere mortal existence; That transcends The superficial; Resisting the temptation, Of allowing money, Power, Possessions To rule us; Lower us, Such empty pursuits, Abuse the soul, Lose all earthly meaning; But, It is a path, That many humans choose; Denying their true earthly goal, Losing their humanity; Pursuing countless wealth Beyond sanity. When fame and fortune Outweighs all human worth, The Midas touch; A pursuit of personal riches, Will not save the Earth; Nor touch the soul. Obsessive desire for wealth Makes the spirit weak; Narrows vision, Suffocates the mind, Confined Within that shallow vision Of itself. Material possessions; Wealth, Will inevitably turn to dust, As our short lives end. If humankind is to Transcend; We must instead, Treasure the moments With friends, Family, Loved ones. Counting coins Is the value of the dead; The path of the misled. All of us, Must relish in Simple pleasures; Cherish each dawn, That is shared With everyone. Sunsets and sunrises; Marvel at the complex Beauty of nature, Learn from the past, Live for the future. Give what you can; For every man, Woman, Child, Animal and insect Has their right to live, To be; To see ahead. Those last in nature, Must come first; Nothing is past, Their thirst should Be our thirst; All creatures, Big and small, All, Have their purpose; A meaning in themselves. Delve deeper; Do not be asleep. See again, Those we loved, Who have Passed on, Are not truly gone; Each and all, Walk with us; Unseen, Await us, In dreams; Always there, On the other side; Within our care, And in theirs; In that other dimension They reside. Growing, Sometimes Returning, But always knowing; As nature herself knows. We are all the flowers Of the Earth; Connected by love, Into rebirth. All must be free, Nurtured; Unpolluted, Never abused. All are Celestial beings; Always seeing, Bathed in light. The night, Never lasts forever. Past, Future; All time bends, Blends as one. Despite the pain; Brokenness, Of human existence, We must resist The path of hate; Never too late To think on bitterness. Be stoic, Be strong, Always believe in truth; Unknown wrongs, will be known in time. We are never alone; All are one. Remember; Love exists Within our souls Forever. Forgive others; seek truth, Live the life, You've been Blessed with. Listen; Make each tomorrow A better experience. Guide and care, Help those in sorrow; Never truly despair. Again, Beyond mortal pain; We are all simply one, So, Be true, Grow; Shine in honesty. Beneath this sun, Remember; All of us Must share With everyone. Many may walk In darkness But, All shall see The light; Or fall. Be free, Let that light, Reside deep Within you, guide you; strengthen you. Always remember; Be true; Otherwise, You will never be you... In the midst of pain And loss, There is always hope, Always love; Once more, Beyond natural law, Life will begin again.