Freedom Horn
by Father Nate Leved of
Church Lucifer
Blow the Horn of Freedom,
And rally to its call;
Wield the sword of power,
And may the winner take it all!
There are those who cower in the
depths of stygian darkness, aghast at
the thought of the gift of freedom that
fills the All with the brightness of
creation and the longing for offered
release. Such are as worthless slaves
who have prostrated themselves in
supplication before the raised fist of a
fool who spoke words of gilt and fear
and damnation that caused the masses
to tremble before the might of the
coming storm.
Rather than stand up for right and
freedom, the supplicants would crawl,
dragging their plowshares behind them
in the dust of the earth, afraid to look
up into the face of madness. Stand,
they would not! Neither would they
beat their plowshares into swords with
which to cut themselves free and bathe
in the finery of the gifts offered by the
Lord of Darkness who would freely
give them the joy of the knowing and
the doing of a thousand dreams!
The Freedom Horn blows, it's silvery
notes floating on the winds of promise,
but the slaves are deaf to the call of the
Lord of Darkness who would raise
them up unto goodhood, fit creators of
a better tomorrow. Fools! Racah!
How dare such breathe the same air
that nourishes the sons and daughters
of Lucifer!
There are but two choices in this
median realm, that of Master and that
of slave. All will know which they
are! Feel thine breasts, oh aspirants of
glory, and find thy true nature! The
hearts of Masters beat strong and
steady with the power of the thunder
and lightning that sears the dry grasses
of fear that flare up but burn quickly
out before the swift stroke of the
flashing Sword of Victory in the sure
hands of vengeance.
The hearts of slaves, on the other hand,
beat frail and fast as the shadow of
abject fear and worthlessness rises to
overtake them, but they will not save
themselves, cringing at the sight of
spilled blood. No, it is their portion to
grovel in the dust. At the thought of
war, their gorge froths up in their timid
throats, choking them, and they vomit
bile from their quivering innards.
They hear not the call of the Dark
Light that surrounds them and would,
if they would but ask, ignite the
backfire that would end their torment.
Chance? Yes chance! All are given
the chance to reach for greatness and
power, but no, the many are too weak
to take the breath of power that would
ignite their souls into a force of power.
They would not don the cloak of a
Master, for their slave hearts could not
conceive of an act of such magnitude.
Slaves realize that donning the cloak
of a Master entails picking up the
sword of power and wielding it with
majesty and force, for that is the way
of Masters who would drive their
enemies before them and gloat,
listening to the lamentations of their
women. It takes a strong heart to be a
Master! It also takes the willingness to
lay life on the line to keep the prize.
Is it worth it? To a Master, it most
certainly is! The very thought of
cowering before a lesser entity is
abhorrent. Then too, there is the
chance that even a strong opponent
will fail at the moment of truth, so
Masters are willing to take the chance
and battle for all they are worth, the
prize of winning their focus, victory in
their hearts!
Yes, the fires of Masters burn brightly
upon the Astral for all to see and judge
whether or not they have the strength
and fortitude to oppose them and rob
them of their power. It is a fearful
quest to assail true Masters, as if you
fuck with them, they'll kill you and
feed your remains to their dogs.
Hail Lucifer!
FL
Copyright 1996-2003, Nate Leved, all rights reserved.
"May the Dark Sun light your journey."