THE VEIL OF EDEN - Part six

THE VEIL OF EDEN

BY

BARRY VAN-ASTEN

Part VI - How The Whore Was Saved And Won

Lilith, on Her mighty air
Hath led the way through darkness, where
She lay Her flesh and cast Her spell
And showed man mortal, lusts of Hell.
In dream, spoke She unto the son
To show the Whore both saved and won.
And She sang of the mysteries that unite
The eternal darkness and the light.
For the Lord of Night sits oft' astride
The infernal sadness of His bride
And blasphemes nature with His lust
To abide with devils and with dust.
His bride, the Whore, sick to Her breast
Found no ease in sleep nor rest,
Till one night, in the leafy shade
Came footsteps nearer, unafraid,
For 'twas the Lord of Day, that came
To witness Night with Whore in shame.
And in Day's hand a mighty sword
Was drawn and raised without a word;
'Twas thrust into the heart of Night,
Thrust with all His regal might
That split the Lord of Night in twain -
From head to toe, the Night was slain!
And as the thunder clouds rolled by
The Lord of Day looked to the sky,
While Whore sang sweet beneath the beast
Of Night, to gaze on Her saviour priest.
And She rose and danced and kissed His feet
With gentle kisses that were sweet.

Whore:

My Lord, my Lord, this very night,
Day hath turned my darkness light!
I who loved each maid and man
With all the skill of an artisan;
I who conjured man from boy
And dashed his dreaming with a sigh,
For 'twas the love that carried me
Into the doomed realms of devilry.

Lord Of Day:

Thou art the harlet of the world, it's Whore;
The fount of all splendour to adore!
Tho were shameless before all men,
Returned to shame and shame again.
Through the spring and summer air
Did'st thou in thy purple, perfumed lair
Stain with blasphemies, thy cup
And bid the goat god drink it up!
Autumn, winter, came and went
And still thou stolest thy sacrement.

Whore:

O how mine womb sings in the night
Sweet songs of love and songs of fright!
For I am but an instrument of man's desire,
And man is but a stringed bow to my fire.

Lord Of Day:

O, my thrice-blessed daughter of Hell
That hath sighed through aeons...I cannot tell
Why my path hath led me here
In priestly mock that's thread with fear.
For I gaze upon thy limbs that wrought
Joy to life and death, unsought.
And I ache with passions, born anew,
For thou see'st, I am but mortal too!
And here, beside the Night in twain,
He of dark appetites and of pain,
I hunger thine unamed caress
That foldeth fear within thy kiss.
O harpy of infinitesimal lust,
Thy body is as dust and dung;
A chariot of disgust that must
Wield by magic, thy foul tongue.
Crescent form and lissome limbed:
Thou hast seen the bloom of midnight dimmed!

Whore:

Nay my Lord, for see, I blush.

Lord Of Day:

How I long to hold thee near, and crush
Thy soft bruised flesh, and kiss it sweet,
And feel thine heart upon mine beat.
For 'tis madness that within me lies
And yearns to thine cup that destroys.

Whore:

I see thine passions runneth deep:
Thine sting of holiness doth sleep!
Mine change was swift - see how it turns
Unto Whoredom's grip that burns!
My breasts are ripe with motherhood
Where beauty's flame hath flickered in;
Veiled with roses and with blood:
I hath long been the Queen of Sin!
Mine limbs doth ache, mine heart be tired;
Mine flesh is soft, yet weak and sore.
Flames of passion hath I fired
In this sacred vessel known as Whore!
Beggar, Prince, wench and King -
To all hath I sworn my lusts to sing!
By streams hath I lain with beast and brute;
To poets, strummed soft on lyre and lute.
In chambers hath I soiled with bliss
Mankind's threefold consciousness
That unlocked the gates that case the womb
To reveal the glories of the tomb.
A flower, cursed and midnight, dead,
By morn shall resteth on his head.
With flames I coil and weep and sing
To the ecstasy of lust's everlasting spring.
But I see thou art cold to nocturnal pain;
Those tongues of fear hath dulled thy brain,
Yet wine is sweet! My Lord, cometh near,
Be ye not afraid of regions drear,
And when next thou see'st the sun goeth down
Thou shalt bear the sceptre and the crown!

Sprite:

Child of thy bowel, the war is near won:
See'st how the moon lookest to the sun!

.....................................................................

And the Lord of Day remained all night
In the arms of Whoredom, painted white
As the pure snow driven, soft and deep
Upon abominations that will not sleep.

Whore:

O my Lord, how art thou weak;
How art thou senseless in thy reign.
Thou hast planted wisdom on mine cheek,
I hath invoked horror in thy brain,
And defiled the holy seed of man
To bronze his passion in the womb
And sin unto the Holy Lamb.
Yea! I hath sheathed his purple plume
In depths unutterable, till it blooms
Where rose and lily fold as one.
And limbs are still in crimson tombs
Now the dark God's work's near done!
But hush, dost thou not hear mine womb burst
Into song, now quenched of thirst?

Sprite:

Harketh! dost thou hearest the moan of Hell
Rise in triumphant madrigal?

Chorus:

It be the solar rays of light:
It be the lunar washed of white!

Whore:

I am the horror of thy bowel;
I am the obscene whorings, come
By fragrances both fair and foul,
For I am corruption and the sum
Of man's extension into shame,
That shall by fear and bliss, enflame
Thy brain, by copulation's bud
And disintegrate thy nakedness
And giveth thee to brotherhood
In the excreta of excess!