“Pensiles Horti!”

Where is the gate of the gods?
It is where the hanging gardens are at.
And where are the gardens that hang?
It is where the heavens are at.
But we see the heavens above, yet no garden that hangs, and no portal in it?
Because the “way of the gods” is but in the autonomous spagyrical temperaments, now defined and osmosed as the figurative heart!

But see here now!
The hanging gardens no longer hang in the hearts of many,
For the conduit (to the divine ones) has proved a doorway to all forms of debauchery and injury.
Her water levels has finally decreased:
Enough for soldiers to cross on their bare feet,
To trample on her like the Lady of the Evening (Lilith) that she is,
And to spoil her collective chosen trophies, that are stained with the blood of the holy ones.

Soon, she will disappear,
With a swift global blow,
Like a thief in the night…!

So that when her followers and devotees wake up in the morning,
And put on their worship garments….

And while giving thanks to their God, and blessing neighbors on their way to their temples, shrines, churches, chapels, mosques, synagogues, and all sorts of other religious denominating congregations….

They will gasp with breathtaking surprises,
And marvel at her miracle disappearing act.
And say:

“We have been robbed!”

And further say:

“We have erred!”

And still further say:

“God has abandoned us!”

Then they will run.
They will hide.
They will beat themselves.
Chastise themselves.
Weep and mourn for themselves.
But they will not be heard!

Then they will become hot with anger!
Coming out of their hiding places,
Fighting for their beliefs!
But will not prevail!

Then they will know that they have been plagued, with no way out!
For they will now eat, but not be full.
They will drink water, but not be quenched.
They will lay on their beds, but not slumber.
They will sit, but not remained sat.
They will drink wine, but not become intoxicated.
They will take hypnotics, but not become inebriated.
They will copulate, but neither ejaculate or climax.
They will suffer, but find no relief.
They will anger, but not be appeased.

And that is where they’ll find themselves, in the gnashing of their teeth.
In fury, they will be constantly as.

And that is where they will go…
Alive…
Into sheol!

Where they will not be buried.
But their flesh will be eaten by beasts, instead.
And their bones be burned to ashes by the survivors.
For even in sheol, there’s no resting place for the plagued ones.

Babylon the Great has fallen!
The Tower of Babel is finally no more!
And the hanging gardens will never suspend and decorate, nor mystify,
To times, and times indefinite!

For our Maker is great indeed!

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[Article Posted by: Sabiazoth Psyche]

[Writing & Concept, Created & Produced by: Sabiazoth Psyche]

[Aspaty: Trispace, Carpercycle 27, 13 R.L. E.C. (Solar East)]

[Image(s): Unknown]

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