Brooding Misery

By C. A.W.

The main subject of Brooding Misery in large margin requires no description. Its mood is utterly bleak; however, there is much hope between the lines: “Long is the way and hard that out of Hell leads up to light.” This quote, taken from John Milton’s “Paradise Lost,” functions moreover as the key to understanding the central theme of the book, which is transcendence. In the broadest sense, it regards the bounds and fetters of one’s own personal hatred—in turn, calling it to the surface, illuminating it, and exercising it like a poison from one’s own soul.

The narrator’s conflict is expressed and is defined through various negative emotions running through the book, which is rife with themes of self-loathing, guilt, pride, shame, anger, treachery, and of course, misery. Throughout the book, the narrator gives voice to his inner spiritual struggles yet, by the end of the journey, seeks to rise up against the darkness that permeates the depths within.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9781796012378

Book preview

Lucifer’s Ode

Lucifer ye, light bearer of ancient flame thy wisdom,

And thy seal thou were once call’d ‘the cherub

That covereth’ and so thou didst the breadth of Heaven.

Thy orb wast the first dawn’s jewel that wast thy crown.

O you son of the morning-Truth’s day star.

‘Thou shineth like unto a ruby radiant and rare-

Yet rarer wast thy minstrel and thy song.

Thy harp and thy piper thy lute and lyre all were thine in Heaven.

And blameless in thy ways thy seal wast of perfect beauty,

That beauty wast thy seal and handsome splenduor fair.

And fairer wast thy adornment "and wast every precious stone

Wast thy covering the carnelian, the chrysolite,

And moonstone, the beryl, the onyx, and jasper,

The sapphire the, turquoise, and emerald;

And worked in gold were thy sets and engravings"

Were also thine- thine wast thy mantle pristine

And pure- thy ray and spotless wast thy beam,

And faultless gleam- thy aspect and embroidery magnificent,

And the stars were thine. And didst melt by thy voice

And in thy own sight would thy image wrought,

Thy blush and grew vain- in thy heart and pride brought thee low.

Ah, but how thou art fallen! O morning star of yore,

For by the heights which raised thee up thou were thrown,

And cut to the ground, o wherefore thou wast cast

From the mountain of God. Thy crown is lost

And the jewel thou wast consum’d by fire,

And thy flesh wast consum’d and thy wounds reviled in agony.

Woe to the earth and to the nations which beheld thee.

Whose name is heard no longer in Heaven.

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The Star Of Phosphorus

The star of Phosphorus white.

O ‘thou Venus of the spheres ‘thou brilliant orb,

Doth shinenth so pure and bright, in the East and

In the West, ‘Thou presideth o’er the light of the day, o fair thou morning beam.

As o’er the darkness of night. While oft I dream upon thy zealous ray,

With mine gazing pensive eye, how I wonder what thou art.

O strange and mysterious ray glowing aloft,

With all the fire in the sky, thy glory wast set above the rest,

In thy place so high thou were’t called Lucifer-

And the lesser stars didst yet, blush to look on thee with envy,

O but how art thou fallen from heaven."

For the burning of thy glare grew too much to blind in thine own eyes-

‘Thou endangered to set all of heaven ablaze.

As thou could be seen thy radiant fumes trailing afar-

As fell thy flame as down thou wast cast into the sea.

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Crippled Lucifer

Behold crippled Lucifer, poor Devil thou art.

How canst thou rightly call thyself noble Prince or King of Hell?

Cut down by the root of thy pride which hath wrought,

And brought thee low, and neither is found anymore thy seat,

Nor place in Heaven. Lost is that place to thee,

Which was once thy first and former estate.

Do ye sayest truly that "all is not lost?

Thou’ wretched Fiend thy hallow words art villain,

And thyself deceive, and deceive thyself, should thou rightly doeth. O’ you Lord of Vanity!

O’ such canst thou maketh any fall in greater measure?

Alas, but somehow much less than that measure which fell in thy tears,

I believe He wept the one call’d ‘The Great Satan.’

O’ weep thee weep, weep for all is lost.

Thrown down before the feet of the pit.

O’ never shall thy baneful eyes cast upon His crown.

O’ sad wretch thou’ yet crawl upon thy foul belly,

Thou’ art the sire of the worm and coil brood.

O’ desolate must ye slither profane and vile, serpent.

Wherefore eat