Temptation, and the Fruit of Bitterness

Out of myself I stood and looked
and saw, so cold, aloof,
the very subtle murmur hooked
on the astute, dull spoof
that life had come to be. The fog
she prowled, avoiding light,
singing a gentle monologue
from minds educing might.
Her soft embrace, her words and spell
on souls bestowed a hell.

I was afraid no more to be the heir
of ancient covens fated to despair.
Her chant aroused my will from slumber. Right
away, an ugly thought my heart held tight.
Although I did join them to make amends
and take avail of what the mob commends
(that is, self-hatred), now I changed my mind:
I was embittered. I’d deceive—and grind
no more my teeth. I’d smuggle out and twist
the knowledge, echo kept in Jacob’s fist.
The ladder climbed (if need be, clumsily),
I’ll pierce austere sable shrouds heavenly
where hidden smoldering arcana lie.
My life ascetic, far from turning dry
the reveries my inner foe designed,
revealed the thorns in my eyes intertwined.
The humble, doleful virtue, stumbling block
to my impatient nature, forged a lock
to seal harmoniously the narrow gate,
the bars against which peoples meet their fate.
Yet I’d resolved to find my way around…

Born in Dreamland

Was I a jealous jester? And, did I,
although in ways unwitting, forfeit oaths
pronounced unwillingly, that silence loathes
and time keeps tied despite my being sly?

I know that truth eludes your hazy ken.
I know that reason asks you “What is truth?”
I know that you can’t answer, so uncouth
the thought of it has grown to fallen men.

I’m not delirious. Never did I want
to twaddle nonsense, gibberish and lies.
The trails I trod unfolded to my eyes
ophidian rifts that other seers would haunt.

The silent chasms splitting worlds in shards,
in quiet shimmers, mirrored, in the murk
thick with devotions untold, lusts that lurk
in cloisters—those grotesquely fast-shut yards.

These wide, unnoticed gaps that we both found,
provided us with longed-for open gates
through which mirific entities fled fates
whilst we, unheard, stepped out, and on their ground.

You can’t, you wouldn’t understand: we cleave
to one another, everlastingly
committed, as the ether’s memory.
To one another, truth—for which we’ll grieve.

For time elapses, now as ever, here
as everywhere. Our owlish dreamlings, too
grow up, and thrive. They’ll be brought forth anew,
the second time herefrom fated to veer.

She’ll shepherd our ideas made flesh without.
Forgetful of their nascent years, they’ll see
this as their grisly normal life. She’ll flee
then, once the seed has taken root in doubt.

In the End

Alone, she’ll find an entrance to his heart.
Alone, he’ll kindle her abhuman art.
Alone, she’ll answer enigmas opaque.
Alone, he’ll face the bane, the mighty snake,
the one who can’t acknowledge that I failed,
the one who in abyss does hide, all veiled.
Let time and space abolished be. Let’s dirge.
Let earth and heaven naught our faults and merge.

Betrayal

I might be judged, by God condemned,
and I’ll accept divine decrees.
Though low in spirits, even damned,
I’ll learn anew whilst on my knees:
There’s such a thing as burning love
and burning hate is not as cruel.
How beauteous is a gift thereof!
And yearning through the silence, dual,
anon obnoxious carrion, close
to utter oneness, we’ll soon join
in dormant states, from crowds verbose
afar. I’ll gird your blessed loin,
for dark your path is bound to lie:
From inner rooms goes light awry.

Forgive my pride, that cast you down.
Your pardon is to me a dear
unmerited reward, a crown
for every virtue I revere.
You gave yourself wholeheartedly
to no one but your love, and yet
without abashment, craftily,
I tricked, ensnared you in a net.
Within embroidered schemes I lured
both men and maidens, free and slave.
And yonder were y’all drawn and cured:
my mind, its own place—though a cave
where infant thoughts are born to thrive,
and nasty languors made to shrive.

You deserve, my gypsy nun, what none can offer.