Amidst the sands of time and space ... poem by Stefano Donno

Amidst the sands of time and space,

A tome of secrets lies in grace,

The Book of the Dead, a sacred place,

For souls to find their eternal embrace.

 

With hieroglyphics etched in gold,

Its pages tell tales of old,

Of gods and pharaohs long foretold,

And the journey of the soul's unfold.

 

The weighing of the heart, a daunting test,

As Anubis, the jackal-headed, does attest,

To see if it is light as a feather, at best,

Or heavy with sin, and thus must be suppressed.

 

In the Duat, the realm of the dead,

The soul must pass through gates ahead,

And recite spells to ward off dread,

And protect against the monsters' spread.

 

But fear not, for there is hope,

As the sun god Ra helps souls to cope,

And guides them to the afterlife's scope,

Where they may find eternal elope.

 

The Book of the Dead, a guide for all,

To navigate the underworld's thrall,

And reach the promised eternal hall,

Where the soul can finally stand tall.

 

Oh ancient tome, your secrets still inspire,

As we seek to understand the afterlife's attire,

And ponder what awaits beyond the fire,

When our earthly journey does expire.

 

 

 

 

Stalking (inspirational poem about women victims of violence) by Stefano Donno

Amidst the pain and sorrow,

The violence that they've known,

Women stand up tall and proud,

Their resilience clearly shown.

 

Though they have been abused,

And suffered at the hands of men,

They refuse to be silenced,

And rise again and again.

 

They may have been knocked down,

But they refuse to stay there,

With every breath they take,

They rise up from despair.

 

Their courage is a beacon,

Their strength a shining light,

They stand up for themselves,

And for all who suffer in their plight.

 

They band together in solidarity,

To fight for what is right,

To end the cycle of violence,

And bring an end to the night.

 

They are warriors of justice,

Their spirits cannot be tamed,

And they will not be defeated,

For their power cannot be named.

 

So let us all stand with them,

And lend our voices to their cry,

For a world without violence,

Where women can soar high.

 

 

The Futhark holds the secrets of old ... poem by Stefano Donno

In the runes of ancient lore,

Lies a magic deep and pure,

Carved in stone and etched in wood,

The Futhark holds the secrets of old.

 

Each symbol, a gateway to the past,

A key to the wisdom that forever lasts,

Through time and space, its power endures,

A mystery that always reassures.

 

From the Norns' threads to Odin's eye,

The runes speak of legends and more,

Of tales that once were lost to time,

And the magic that lies at their core.

 

With every stroke and every line,

The Futhark calls to us in kind,

To awaken the magic that lies within,

And let its ancient power begin.

 

So let us heed the call of the runes,

And learn the magic that they impune,

For in their wisdom, we will find,

The secrets of the ancients, entwined.

 

 

Sephiroth poem by Stefano Donno

 From highest heights to depths below,

The Sephirotic tree doth glow,

A ladder stretching to the skies,

With ten spheres that before us rise.

 

At Keter's peak, the crown sublime,

The light of Ein Sof doth shine,

A spark divine that doth ignite,

The path to heaven's purest light.

 

From there, to Hokmah's sphere we come,

Wisdom's source, the primal sum,

The light that emanates from here,

Will shape creation far and near.

 

Next, we reach the sphere of Binah,

Understanding's seat, the mother,

Her insight guides us to discern,

The truths that we so often yearn.

 

With Chesed's sphere, we find the love,

That rains down from the heavens above,

A love that's pure, a love that's true,

A love that guides us through and through.

 

Next, we come to Gevurah's might,

The power that sets the world aright,

The force that balances with care,

The forces that we often dare.

 

Then, Tiferet's sphere we see,

A place of beauty, harmony,

A place where all the spheres unite,

In perfect balance, pure and bright.

 

From here, to Netzach's sphere we go,

The sphere of victory, the glow,

That powers us to conquer all,

And rise up when we may fall.

 

Then, Hod's sphere we do discover,

The place of glory and of honor,

A place where wisdom's power shines,

And knowledge that transcends all times.

 

Finally, Yesod's sphere we find,

The gateway to the soul refined,

The place where all our dreams arise,

And we discover truth and lies.

 

At last, we reach the final sphere,

Malkuth, the world we all hold dear,

The physical realm where we abide,

And all our souls in it reside.

 

And so, the Sephirotic tree,

Reveals to us the mystery,

Of how the universe was made,

And how our lives have been portrayed.

 

 

To be Freddy or not to be Freddy poem by Stefano Donno

In dreams we seek escape and rest,

A respite from the world's cruel test,

But in these halls of nightmare dread,

Our fears are made alive instead.

 

A gloved hand, blades sharp and gleaming,

In the darkness, silently scheming,

A twisted figure, burned and scarred,

With power over dreams, a king bizarre.

 

He preys upon the youth at night,

Their screams and pleas just fuel his might,

For in their slumber, he has found,

A way to bring his madness round.

 

Freddy Krueger, name feared and loathed,

A phantom of a past engrossed,

In murder, violence, and revenge,

A killer who refuses to avenge.

 

For he was burned, condemned to die,

By parents seeking justice high,

But in their haste, they took his life,

And birthed a demon, filled with strife.

 

Now in their dreams, he takes his toll,

On those whose parents played a role,

In his demise, he seeks to wreak,

A bloody vengeance, cruel and bleak.

 

So in this film of horror's reign,

We see a killer, born of pain,

A monster who defies the grave,

A nightmare from which none are saved.

 

 

The order of the Illuminati reigns .... poem by Stefano Donno

Amidst the shadows and the night,

The order of the Illuminati reigns,

Their secrets hidden from plain sight,

As they pull the strings and play their games.

 

With whispered words and hidden signs,

They plot and scheme with subtle grace,

Their power vast, their reach divine,

As they guide the course of human race.

 

The truth they guard, the lies they spin,

A veil of mystery shrouds their ways,

And those who seek to look within,

Are lost within their endless maze.

 

But in the darkness, there's a spark,

A glimmer of the hidden light,

That leads the seekers through the dark,

Towards the truth that shines so bright.

 

For the Illuminati's ancient lore,

Is not just power, greed and fame,

But knowledge, wisdom and much more,

That we all seek, yet can't obtain.

 

So let us keep the flame alive,

And strive to seek the hidden light,

For in the end, the truth shall thrive,

And banish all the shadows of the night.

 

 

The Golem ... poem by Stefano Donno

From the depths of the earth and the power of stone,

The Golem was brought forth to make its home,

A being of magic, of clay and of mud,

Forged with the power of a holy word.

 

Inscribed upon its forehead, the sacred name,

A symbol of power, a source of flame,

And with a single word from the Rabbi's tongue,

The Golem was born, with a mission begun.

 

A protector of the Jewish people, it was made,

To guard them from harm and keep them safe,

With strength beyond measure and a heart of gold,

The Golem was a hero, brave and bold.

 

But its power was feared, its magic unknown,

And some sought to destroy it, to cast it out on its own,

But the Golem was steadfast, it would not yield,

For it knew its mission, and it would not yield.

 

With its strength and its will, it stood its ground,

And protected the people, with a resounding sound,

A testament to the power of faith and belief,

The Golem was a symbol, of hope and relief.

 

So remember the Golem, a magical figure of old,

A protector of people, brave and bold,

And with the power of faith, and the strength of stone,

We too can be heroes, and make our world our home.

 

 

In the depths of the Twilight Zone ... poem by Stefano Donno

In the depths of the Twilight Zone,

Where the boundaries of reality are unknown,

A place of shadows, a place of mystery,

Where the past, present and future are history.

 

A place where time stands still,

And the impossible can be real,

Where the laws of nature do not apply,

And the boundaries of the mind amplify.

 

In this place of wonder and dread,

The imagination can take flight instead,

Where the impossible is possible and the improbable is true,

And the mind can explore the depths of what it can do.

 

In the Twilight Zone, the unexpected can appear,

And the things that you fear are suddenly near,

Where the mysteries of the universe unfold,

And the secrets of the mind are told.

 

So enter if you dare,

Into the depths of the Twilight Zone where,

The impossible is possible and the unreal is real,

And the boundaries of reality no longer conceal.

 

 

Dark and diabolical is the way ... poem by Stefano Donno

Dark and diabolical is the way

Of Anton LaVey and his notorious sway

The enemy of traditional religious thought

His wisdom has been duly sought

 

Heresy is his calling card

An advocate of rational and daring regard

He stands in defiance of the status quo

Faithfully, onward he does go

 

His Satanic teachings a challenge to embrace

A heresy of the mind, a fire to race

The courage to embrace the darkness within

This is the power and strength therein

 

Anton LaVey, his lessons to learn

A philosophy of the rebel, an ember that burns

A fire to bring us closer to the core

This is his legacy, forevermore.

 

 

The spirit of Christine lives on … poem by Stefano Donno

The spirit of Christine lives on,

A relic of a bygone era,

A vintage car that can't be gone,

Enshrined in a river of fear.

 

She's been around for years,

Yet she still lingers on,

A terror of the people she nears,

A force to be reckoned with strong.

 

Her engine roars, her paint so red,

A car with a dark, sinister fate,

Powerful and menacing, she spreads dread,

An '83 relic of an antiquated state.

 

Christine will never die,

A ghostly car that glides,

A vintage ride from the past that defies

Time and the darkness it hides.