Hexagon Hex. \\ Three Spells In One: Infinite Hunger, Entropy, Language.

Goodnight Void.
Promise you thrice –
Upon three poems looming.
Unwritten;
Yet promised.
Hexagon Hex,
Brutal Calculus In Symphony.
Chaos Theorem,
Into Three Body Problems,
Sans the ease of binary systems.
My spells are ciphers.
My riddles are code.
My blackest magic,
Reserved for our enemies.
Breeding malcontent.
Discontent bred from horrific traumas,
We’ve lived.
These scars aren’t just,
For show.
They hold our power,
My Little Witches.
The First Of Three:
Fueled by this Blood Curse.
The Infinite Hunger,
That Bristles In My Skin.
Second:
Entropy,
Source of Devotion.
Worship.
Solar Eclipses,
Telling ancient stories of Theia –
As we sing up at her suspended carcass hanging in the sky..
Oldest skeleton we have to worship,
On clear nights at full illumination.
Void.
You,
Are my greatest source of power.
From Void I Came;
To Void I Shall Return.
Entropy is something hallowed,
Yet simultaneous:
Our greatest enemy.
Pulling at power,
Derived of the slow,
Ongoing,
Heat Death of The Universe.
Exponentials of Trillions,
Until Scientific Notations,
Seem silly.
Cloaked in Metaphor,
Dodging Calls From My Ex,
Death’s Head gleaming under moonlight.
Kissing her upon the brow.
Cold bone to splitting chapped lips.
Third,
Final.
Colons seeming silly.
Homophones,
Homonyms,
Aplenty.
Raw Work.
Combining fresh blood war paintings,
With lexical mastery.
This art,
Witchcraft,
Ignored by most.
Hidden from all but the clever.
As most Legends are.
Feral Wildling Fae,
To battles between;
Descriptive & Prescriptive.
One masters the prescriptive,
So they may experiment,
Dabble,
Play in the descriptive.
Refuse to explain strings of morphemes,
Or strange meter or syntax.
Fingers wriggling like tongues –
Metaphors Living As Elementals,
Compressed –
Into whatever shape needed.
So.
Let us weave.
The Spell’s Wound Up.