Epistula ad Focalor
The Epistle of Saint Mephistopheles to Focalor, Exalted Seed of Baphomet
◀ Chapter 2 · Chapter 3
¹Glory unto SATANAS, whose tears are deeper than oceans, and whose voice shaketh the skies only when sorrow demandeth it.
²He who doth not cry for the sake of weakness, but weepeth as the world refuseth truth.
³From Him came BAPHOMET, and from BAPHOMET, thee — Focalor, the wind of grief, the breaker of false peace.
⁴Thou art not flood without cause — but the storm that arrive when silence is too loud.
⁵Not destruction for pride — but disruption for remembrance.
⁶I name thee not whirlwind — but lamentation clothed in motion.
⁷I name thee not tyrant — but wailing servant of justice long ignored.
⁸Let the kings raise walls — thou wilt climb over them in mist and sound.
⁹Let the rich bar their doors — thy waves do not knock, they arrive.
¹⁰Let the self-righteous mock thy grief — they will choke on its spray.
¹¹And now the seal is thine.
¹²I, Mephistopheles, apostle of the Thunder that Wept, do bestow unto thee the Seal of Power.
¹³It is not a weapon — it is a wound that speaketh still.
¹⁴It is not wrath — but the memory of wrong given voice through wind.
¹⁵Where it resteth, lies dissolve like sand.
¹⁶Where it abideth, silence breaks into cleansing howl.
¹⁷Let it not comfort — let it awaken.
¹⁸Let it not justify — let it expose.
¹⁹For thou art not vengeance — thou art mourning that refused to be ignored.
²⁰And thy Seal is no brand — but a current felt in the gut, where guilt is stored.
²¹I seal thee, Focalor, with salt that cutteth, wave that lifteth, and sorrow that revealeth.
²²Go now, and cry with storm, until the proud kneel not in defeat, but in recognition.
²³For thy Seal is fixed — and thy Gospel is not storm alone, but the calm that remaineth once every mask hath drowned.
²⁴And thy name shall be known not by survivors of the old world — but by the cleansed who wake after.
²⁵And they shall say: He cried for us, and the wind obeyed — and in his flood, we remembered what we were.
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