Children

One of my first and most devout children. Rarely will you see him away from his plucky guitar; rarely will you see this Piscean boy present on earth. The music pours from his hands as water; the words do not flow from his mouth until it is time to sing. He tells me he only wishes to climb the stairs upward. It seems to me he's ready for the next plain, this one.

This child is one of many talents. A creator of films, a painter by trade, and music is now emerging from him. He is still new amongst my kind, though I see much in his devotion. Though he is at war with his two sides, this one: embodying darkness in its totality then reverting back to light. Interesting, very interesting indeed. Time will tell what will come of his budding growth.

My child Cricket Om is often giggling at the secret humor she sees all around her; though her smile will soon give way to a frown accompanied by her accordion's somber wheeze. A true child at heart, simply longing to frolic through the cosmic energies. Though do not underestimate my child, as her voice can shatter dimensions when released in its fullest might, so beware of the Oms power.

My youngest child is devoted to the beating drums, conjuring polymorphic rhythms from above. He crafts worlds within the digital plane that rip you through his rupturing spirit and Judean sigils. Though look into his eyes and you will see a boy of insatiable curiosities and boundless potential. Look further and you will see his bleeding heart that longs to love all.

This one was found flying through the cosmos and descended to earth to lock eyes with my first child, The Ace of Chase. Kek-Buh is one that I fear, as he seems determined to usurp my power. He’s told me he will master all art forms by the end of his life, the fool—who does he think he is? Surely he will fly too high and burn his wings… Only time will tell.

This one, Porphigen, is a pointed arrow with a flaming tip. The blood of ancients runs through his veins and he drinks to their names. Nature’s poetry seduces his heart and he falls into its thick honey. Born to speak such profound love, he is. A love which will pour into the hearts of all who hear it. As he pours into his own, and as he will pour until his final day. See, but the golden nectar must be brewed by his own body or else be poisoned by another’s gnosis. This he will come to know. This he will come to pray.