|
Unreality made real and conscious Night. A violent, fierce and formidable world, An ancient womb of huge calamitous dreams, Coiled like a larva in the obscurity That keeps it from the spear-points of Heaven's stars. It was the gate of a false Infinite, An eternity of disastrous absolutes, An immense negation of spiritual things. All once self-luminous in the spirit's sphere Turned now into their own dark contraries: Being collapsed into a pointless void That yet was a zero parent of the worlds; Inconscience swallowing up the cosmic Mind Produced a universe from its lethal sleep; Bliss into black coma fallen, insensible, Coiled back to itself and God's eternal joy Through a false poignant figure of grief and pain Still dolorously nailed upon a cross Fixed in the soil of a dumb insentient world Where birth was a pang and death an agony, Lest all too soon should change again to bliss. Thought sat, a priestess of Perversity, On her black tripod of the triune Snake Reading by opposite signs the eternal script, A sorceress reversing life's God-frame. In darkling aisles with evil eyes for lamps And fatal voices chanting from the apse, In strange infernal dim basilicas Intoning the magic of the unholy Word, The ominous profound Initiate Performed the ritual of her Mysteries. There suffering was Nature's daily food Alluring to the anguished heart and flesh, And torture was the formula of delight, Pain mimicked the celestial ecstasy. There Good, a faithless gardener of God, 
|
