Here i shall put together some of my favourite poems. They can be helpful in this age of darkness. As a light from Hyperborea coming to bring us hope, so that we may keep the Sacred Fire burning, and keep on marching, Sword in Hand, with a Will of Iron.
Pilgrim of great longing
The Children of the Golden Age now wander, far and wide,
through the lands of their forefathers, forgotten by the Gods of Destiny.
In some other place.
And no longing can make them return?
Are they never to see my eyes?
Oh! Never shall you find through the thousand paths of the verdant earth the one who seeks you,
with shapes equal to the Gods?
And i understood, by luck, your language, your legend, so alone because my soul was seeking your shadows?
I wanted to approach you, there where your forests still grew, where the clouds hid your solitary summit.
Holy Mountain. There i yearn to go, and, when gleaming
in the shadow of the Holm Oak,
I find the Fountain of Origin,
Oh, you sleepers!
Oh, holy shades!
I want to live with you! – Hölderlin
The song of the wayfarer
O Lucifer,
There never was a passage,
And no one, since
Earliest times, Has ever discovered it,
Neither by sea nor by land,
This slender thread of crystalline water,
Wind and green light,
This sighing of his breast.
This way is agonizing,
Deep are the waters Of death!
Where, O Lucifer,
Shall we cross this immense sea? – Miguel Serrano, NOS
‘I see a hall standing, More beautiful than the sun,
Covered in gold At Gimle:
It is there that the faithful Troops shall live And for eternity Will rejoice in happiness. When arrives from on high,
At the last judgement,
The powerful, the magnificent, He who governs everything.
He decides the fate of the combats, He appeases the quarrels, He decrees the eternal laws.’ Völuspa 64-65
Let them sleep, Great Wotan! They who know nothing, they who dare nothing, the fire within their aryan soul has long expired, rudderless and adrift, devoid of ancestral courage. Mediocrity can never grasp thy calling. Yes – let them sleep.
The thoughtless, the self-serving, the unheroic, blind as they are to nature’s laws– Truth does not move them, nor a pride of their kind. These are not men;they are but mechanistic shadows animated within an empty, rootless age! Yes, they sleep, they sleep.
And when good men die in freedom’s fight, they sleep- clutching life’s hourglass, kneeling shamelessly before alien gods, in a world they have not earned- this world, that once knew so many Golden Ages. – Ron Mcvan A Warriors Lament
1000 green teardrops, Fall from Valhalla on high. Tears not of sadness and despair, But tears of our ultimate victory, Over Zion and its robotic pigs and false shaman, Who, with every drop of Venus herself, lose their corrupt monopoly over MAYA. Their game is waning, Their game is lost, We, the loyal, shall be the ultimate inheritors, Who ascend green ladders of frost, To reclaim Lord Lucifer´s ultimate Trophy, And topple and destroy the demon Jehohav, And all his swine minions.
The Age of Gold has truly begun, The last vestiges of Zion are but a moaning echo, As the foul ones run for their lives. 1000 green teardrops, shall wash this Earth Clean, of the accumulated filth of time, For we are above, beyond and against time itself, Like Wotan´s furious horde, Spurred on by the Magi of Bayreuth himself, To Eternal Victory, through Kampf, And far beyond. Hail the Golden age, For it comes like a wind, of Ultima Destiny, to clear away the false idolatry of the ziobot, Of the pigs, the beast-men, and the eternal enemy himself. 1000 green teardrops, to wash this plane Clean, for once and for all! SH/88 In Eternal Loyalty and Kampf! – Brian Metcalfe
Drive your sword into the mirror beside the fire, so that it is reflected in it, everything looks as if it is an upside-down sky, like an arm holding it, rising out of the waters. And passing your sword over the fire, sing : O sun of gold that reflects the black sun! O black sun that hides the Ray of Green Light! Withdraw your luminous shadow, rend your veils, so that i may see your hidden face, veiled by your disc, by the revolving of your swaztika, because the one who is hidden there is I myself. – Miguel Serrano
Invocation
O star of the Evening
Yephun, Baphomet, Quetzalcoatl, Luzibel!
Humane Deep light
Let fall upon us
Like petals of light
Of skies of Autumn!
Accompany us!- Miguel Serrano
Heil Hitler!
For The Heroes of Tomorrow 