Saturday, 19 September 2009



O long ago, long ago, did I dream
That I had wings and a joyous heart,
And I sang sweet songs over hills that roam,
Of undying love and the eternal star.
Sang as my soul in soft moonlight
Found glorious things in everything,
And rejoiced in the wonder of day and night.
But now the deep echo of my regret
Leaves only my heart to hang and long
For that far twilight where dreams are met
And the heart that's empty of its song...
O pity me, I pray, these, my misgivings:
God love me, and give me back my heart!
God love me, and give me back my wings!

Part I - The Flower And The Madness

This, our cosmic stage of sorrow,
This our curtain, lifteth up!
Lift up the veil and therein follow
The glories of love's zenith cup!

Through the celestial realm of night
That overthroweth day,
Stars were magical and bright
In their dumb decay.

And planets shook to music's mode
By the gods that reach
Through infinite space and abode,
Masterful in speech.

And the song of ecstasy was born
To the lips of our goddess.
Yea! her bosom's splendour - dawn,
Sighed with love's madness.

With darkness was her hair aflame
With diamonds and with pearls,
That glittered ceaseless, to her name,
Hung soft in shaken curls.

But cameth whisperings in halls
As some sick phantom stirred,
For 'tis the veil of Eden falls
At his whispered word.

And all the stars were pale and rent
Of light in darkness now;
Those fixed points in the firmament
Wept long in love's sorrow.

See! we are but moonbeams cast
Upon some ruinous river
That sweeps beyond the starry vast
Lie of God, for ever.

Be life not such a delicate bloom
Of gentleness and sighing,
For thou art fragrant in the tomb
Of the old god, dying.

Quick! with thy mortal hands
Break the chain - restriction,
And raise thyself up, love demands
Thou art the resurrection!


Strike! strike! the chain that binds


Thy body beautiful unwinds


Into regions of re-birth


Unto pleasures of the earth!


Here, sickness in Eden falls


Into dark extended halls.


Would'st thou be saddled with the fear


That wrappeth round thy manly spear


And gives thy sister thought to thirst


Damnation's hunger? Thou accursed


Universal Lord of lies,


Man's spirit, hearest, Thou denies!


Strike! Strike! the chain that binds
Thy body beautiful unwinds
Into regions of re-birth;
Unto pleasures of the earth!
For man hath tired, man's brain is bent
Upon the veil of Eden, rent!


Come, not when the moon is lying
Low upon thy prow;
Come, not when the rose is sighing
Sweet upon thy brow.

Come, by the bud of thy perfection,
Not in thy despair;
Here be the bloom of thy redemption:
Thy synagogue of prayer.

For in the words that we remember
Upon our altar - dawn,
We praise the light and praise its keeper
Worshipped by the morn.

This sword thrust deep into thy side
Wills midnight's work be done.
Thy wound a token for thy bride
That hast sighed long for devildom.

Come! Come! and see thy world
And be not overcome
By the treachery unfurled
On thy brave bosom, numb!

And this thy origin revealed,
And this thy regal right,
For thou art sworn to sword and shield
And to thy crown of light.

Phoenix rise ye, onward, on
Into the void of flame
Where death is sweet and calls upon
Dread Baphomet, by name:

To call upon the ghost of love
And unto its shade sing,
Great prophecies shalt love's ghost prove
By this immortal ring!

The Ghost Of Love:

I am Love, disfigured, and I bring
Thee tales of misery - my shame,
For love destroyeth everything
That falleth in its name!

And what sick fruit from Eden's bowel
Hath nursed thy pains? O man,
What plagues within thy garden, prowl
And speaketh of salvation?

What cometh when the rose of knowing
Dieth in thy hand?
It is thine own self, ever growing
In thy wisdom, to expand

Thy flesh of sorrow, that here yearneth
With passions that hath bred
The rot within ye; the core that burneth
Unto the soul that's dead.

Yea! sayeth of the flower, I,
Ye crusheth in thy fate:
That which is born, is born to die
With lusts immaculate!


See ye how the dye is cast


Man's body, beautiful, hath passed


From its sufferings, from its woe


And thus must into silence go,


Into the charnel-house of truth


The womb of wisdom be his proof!


Thy body through the pylon, passed
And thy death was sweet,
Ye are but as sepulchral dust
Of death beneath mine feet.


Let thy flower, lust unfold
Unto the timeless gods of old.
Slain, thy horror shall foretell
What moveth in thee be not Hell.

And lips incarnate of desire
Shall burn with subtle flames of fire.
And thy crown that sleepeth - tragedy,
Shall give untold delights to thee!

O child of beauty and of chaos;
Child that singeth the song of madness,
Thou art impenetrable in thy tomb
To crush the flower of its bloom.

And ye shall sing unto the world
Of thy strange enchantment, curled
From the portal of Eden's dream,
Beyond thy chrysalis, extreme!

But thy season be not over yet,
Thy rose-cupped beauty, thy coronet
Still aches for womanhood and her charm
That can breedeth upon thee man, much harm!


Ah, I see man's heart anew;
I see his immeasurable soul shine through
The fragrant portal of decay,
Where virgin lips hath kissed the day!

And this be sorrow for he knows,
This be the madness of the rose
That unfurls to taste the golden dew:
The spring of man's heart born anew.

Closer, ye not fear the morn
Of thy tender soul, re-drawn
Into a world that is thy making
And thy sufferings, awakening.

Give! Give all! and thou shalt know
Why God feared give ye knowledge so;
For there be sadness in wisdom's joys
When innocence falleth down, and dies.

Ah, but what of woman, sayest
Hath she not her part to playest?
Hath not the organism of man's lust
Crumbled before his eyes? I trust

Ye see'st the sickness of dimension,
Changed by form into corrosion,
Capable of supernal things
Is man, free from woman's wings.

And these be secrets to unfold
When thou redeemest the world of old:
What brute-beast comes in exultation
At damnation's arrival? - Man!


And the creatures of the wood did sing
In each its special voice of God,
Turned with angered hearts, to sting
The folly of fallen Eden, trod
With madness, in the mire of sin -
Thus, the tragedy within!


O things of sorrow, O things of mirth,
Silent, is thy freedom cast
Into the abysses of the earth,
On this, our triumphant hour, past
Into glories that displeaseth God,
For in the wind His voice is oft'
Heard to thunder bold and sad
Before the victory cheers, aloft
Call for the mantle that He wears.
And God in ancient wisdom, frail,
And silver-haired sits with His tears
At the tearing of the veil.


Ah! but what of love?
We think: has it taken stranger?
Some will say that loves knows not
Which of the twain are stronger:
Be it sorrow with its sombre thread
Of deep regret, returning?
Or be it joy, as some hath said,
Cools a heart of yearning?

Mask not thy burning germ of fear
In the sentinels that rot
And bear thy burden in good cheer,
Where passion comforts not
The heart of sighing, for as dust
Hath it fallen gladly -
Breathe! Breathe! deep of the lust
That is divine and Godly!

This thy right and this thy will,
Shade not thy loves in regret;
Thou hast built a temple, here distil
Its pure force into light and set
Thineself within thine amulet. A shrine
Of consecrated wisdom, sealed
By earthly bread and fiery wine
Is the distant matter of thy brain revealed.

Yea! thy crimson death shall be as sweet
That giveth all unto the Lord,
Thine heart shall serve, swift wings shall beat,
Resurrected by the sword.
For man hath built himself a bridge
Void unto void, world unto world;
He standeth at the spectral ridge
With expectations curled

Towards the aeons that shall come,
Towards the sounding of the drum,
And the narrow birth of devildom,
Framed by the leprosy of the sun
And the limitations of the Holy One,
For man's argosy hath here begun!


And dress yea self rich unto God;
Drinketh of His brews, from casks
That flow hearty. Set thee a period:
These thine ordeals and thine tasks,
Measure thine experience and be strong
And man shalt hereby reigneth long!

Thy flesh be as a shoreless bark,
A beacon of thy liberty,
That shalt illuminate the dark
By courage and virility!
Let thy prow look only on man's face
And thine helm taste of his sweet disgrace!

God of alchemy, God of reason,
Let His blood course through thy veined
Temple. Child of glory, in the season
Of thy paradise regained -
Yea! ye hath raped long of God's sanctuary,
Sweet ark of thy discovery.


Breathe of midnight's intoxication,
Lift thy limbs upon its shore,
And bow thee down in adulation
Of love, pure love, thou dost adore.

This, man's joy and abomination:
Giveth all unto the cup
Of thy ceremony and salvation -
Quench thy thirst and drinketh up!

This, thy primal invocation,
This thy will to be declared
Unto the sons of initiation
Who art strong for they hath dared

By secret light, their evocation
And by knowledge deemed it so
Wrought with danger, consecration
Giveth strength that they may go!


What monster passions lie in thy breast?


'Tis the fiend of love's unrest.


Be it of nocturnal fire,
The aspiration of the higher?


It liveth and it breatheth great
In its crucible of hate!


Seen ye yet death's wing come near,
In cheerless agonies, appear?


Death be like the serpent. wise,
His shape is formed fast to disguise;
He breatheth necromantic dung
And sings of fatal heartache, flung
Upon the corpse of youth, ran red:
A grotesque visage of the dead!

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