Occult Notebook

Volume II

The Book of Returnings

Johan U. Xavier II
11-9-98 8:48 p.m.

published by
Threshold Publishing Company
P.O. Box 4033
Blaine, WA 98231

Table of Contents:

  • Do we come
  • Those Arrogant
  • Love
  • Brothers of the Lie
  • Why Does It Not Snow
  • Non Serviam
  • Centenary Rain (II)
  • I am in them
  • The Night Flees
  • Nothing Passes

  • Reverse
  • Dies Irae in tuito umbra
  • Return
  • O Hope
  • Contest
  • Altruist
  • The Great Doubt
  • Sagittarius
  • The Season of Parting
  • For As I Grieve

  • Defender of Men
  • I Turn from Thee
  • I Would
  • O Watcher, Wait
  • I Have Been Shaken
  • She Has Fled
  • I Wait
  • The Second Coming
  • The End of Despair
  • Tomorrow

  • A Million Counsels
  • Weariness
  • Oh Messiach
  • Solitude
  • Season of Prophecy
  • Ascended
  • At Last
  • The Hastening
  • This Season: Fra Angelico
  • Crossroads

  • My Revenge
  • Terpsichore
  • Damnation Day
  • Suffer Me
  • The Sound of the Future
  • Cadmon (II)
  • Calamity's Return
  • Returned
  • Weariness (II)
  • One More Winter
  • Aga Khan
  • Too Soon, the Albatross


    Do we come
    From our comfortable grave
    To light, denying conscience?
    Do we live, as God would have us
    Giants on an earth of old renown?
    Do we wait, for that peculiar glimpse
    Of long-delayed salvation
    Hungry from the day we were denied?

    Those Arrogant
    Who demand of us,
    As we did long ago
    The wisdom of the ancient
    Just because they will it so;
    Explanation for the darkness
    We all see and known
    What do we say to all those arrogant
    Who wish the truth
    Were other than the starkness
    They have themselves decreed?
    One I meet who says she knows of me,
    What harm in truth if she does greet me from afar?
    Although she sees a single lamp
    This in itself
    Will never make her free
    She grows impatient with my reticence
    And flees.
    Those arrogant, they must
    If holy once, regard my light
    If ignorance atones;
    These are days of fast reversal
    I cannot say who will tomorrow
    Come, or go.

    Why cannot I heed
    The voice of reason now?
    Where lately I had made
    A solemn, hardened vow
    To hold Thee sacred to myself
    Inviolate to all
    Why does my heart trip so strongly
    When I hear this Other's call
    Why does my body yearn for
    That sweet emptiness again
    To make of my solemnity
    A shadowplay again?
    11-14-98 midnight

    Brothers of the Lie
    It mattered not what season
    Of the soul wherein we met
    We would engage;
    If it were not of passion bright
    Then it would be of rage
    This is ever so, the hatred
    Of a man, embodies thus his nation
    And the hatred of a king its fate,
    For war will always come
    When the leader grows enflamed
    And this is how the enemy is named;
    For it mattered even less,
    The body each had worn,
    Or sigil on the armor that we bore
    It mattered only that we saw the other's blood
    For we were set against each other in this war.
    As enemies, we grew to know the other,
    In the fascination that we ever bore;
    We studied each as scholars do
    When they are at the law
    And so we grew to understand the more…
    How hatred is a most impassioned love
    How study of the self was so delayed
    By such and such obsession
    With the spilling of our blood
    Until the final battle scene is staged.
    The last of ironies was we as lovers
    Conquering each other with desire
    For as we held the other precious in esteem
    We could not live the hatred or the fire;
    And so our bed was soaked with pain each night
    For neither of the two could cease, to reach for tenderness
    We bled with sullen passion
    That would never seek the peace
    For triumph was the cost of every kiss.
    What is the end of things
    For such a pair as we
    Brothers from the first of days
    Brothers of the Lie
    We cannot be now fulfilled in one another
    One has ever victory
    One will always die.
    (for the Twin)

    Why Does It Not Snow
    When I am on this mountain peak
    Whenever I may go
    The sanctum of the Hierophant
    Is much too far, I know
    But I am full to brimming
    With the wisdom of the Light
    Why cannot the sky be jeweled
    And filled with diamond white
    Why does it never snow
    When I am in Alsace at night
    Awaiting Thee as Wisdom fair
    Reveals her inner light?
    JM, in the 7th Heaven

    Non Serviam
    There are ways men will not serve
    Watches we refuse to keep
    With every nerve we may not kneel
    And never serve.
    Naught could serve to break such pride
    But hunger or misfortune
    That hides within an arrogance
    That fails to feel.
    Fortune does not hasten men
    Though hunger hastens faster
    Poverty may grant some speed
    To suppliance.
    There are ways men will not serve
    But counseled be and counsel keep
    Do not tempt the Fates to take
    Your dreamless sleep.

    Centenary Rain (II)
    I will not sleep just yet
    For I am in the will of rising wind
    The pelting of the rain that does not cease
    Is comfort as it closes me within.
    I feel an ecstasy in rain
    Even while the world of men is dreading flood
    And corpses swell upon the battered river
    How can one rejoice
    While fluid from the rage of Mars
    Is tossed upon the work of Man?
    This I cannot say, I only know
    The cleanliness of victory is weeping from the sky
    And we, the fortunate, are sheltered here below
    Amid the weeping wind, the chilling damp,
    The drama of the sky
    It cannot be a curse to me,
    To see the heavens cry.

    I am in them
    The will and passion of the moment
    Has reanimated me
    And ceaseless flux has lifted me to heaven;
    Arising from a prison cell to see the Holy One,
    I am endowed
    I am in them, I am the energy that haunts the wind
    And raises force to shatter tree and mountain
    Oh bid me to be free
    That I might taste the gladness
    Of the newly blessed, and free.

    The Night Flees
    And yet, a candle pierces through the dark
    To comfort me in solitude
    It is the same as that cold night off yesterday,
    That moment past, an age ago in time
    The candlelight brings forward all the memory of this,
    The nights when nightly labor made me blind.
    Oh did I work, as though pursued
    So fierce did I become in verse
    And as the epic lingered on the pages I rehearsed;
    My light grew dimmer with the turning of the earth.
    So curious, how light within
    Has caused such shadow on my eyes
    That only fear I hid from all
    Was slowly recognized
    I was unmade by He alone by night
    And groped toward my bed by firelight.
    This is my secret, that I hid from all my peers
    That I would leave the burning candle go
    Until the break of dawn
    To bring the shape of life anew
    Dispelling from the midnight realm of fears;
    Tonight I have been wholly, newly made
    And shadow will not tempt me more to weep,
    For now I see, as never formerly
    And so I fear no more the realm of sleep.
    Upon the realization of his Sight, 1998
    11-16-98  Storm

    Nothing Passes
    …through my hands this night
    Though peace has fallen deeply over me
    I wait the God to speak
    But if He does not speak,
    No wisdom will be spoken in the breach.
    O Lord, I am forever conquered
    For you have taken this, my passion
    And have bended it to service of the hour
    What am I today, anachronism
    Poet of a day that has not dawned?
    Yet, nothing passes but the memory
    Of this the golden stream
    I seem to feel its power on my hands
    But faint, and growing fainter still
    A vague mirage as vaguely glimpsed as dream
    Then nothing… as my inspiration dies.
    This is the thankless service of the Poet
    To be the lonely listener,
    To chronicle the hour
    Chimes the moment terrible, I sit with empty hands
    To prophesy the strike upon the Tower.
    And nothing passes still
    Though long I watch the flames
    And nothing said to be of Light
    No song of mine remains.
    I grow for moments bitter
    But will not stay my pen
    I wait the Age of wickedness
    To draw my blood again.
    So still I stay…
    My love of sin is lost
    I cannot rejoice in her again
    For she is lost.
    I will not be the charmed again
    Or driven mad by lust
    This service calls me powerfully
    Moreso than the siren songs of lust…
    I am not of goodness made,
    Nor am I wise, or holy
    But a battered vessel, tried by war
    And fiercer in devotion
    Than those small ships of errant faith
    And sycophantic love
    God needs not abodes of faith
    But action;
    I have learned there is no greater leap of courage
    Than bearing down upon myself with conscience
    And this is the reason nothing can be seen to pass;
    For angels are the benefit unknown
    Their service is a solitary power
    That rises from the humble to the Throne.
    11-16-98  1:00 a.m.

    For Silence
    Cannot be seen in me by day,
    And subtlety is not my highest calling
    Nor was I called to stand by, resolute
    Or show by act of faith my steady strength…
    I am not the steady one, but fierce
    Defender of a righteousness I feel within my blood
    I will not die unknowing
    Nor stay myself before the land unconquered
    Courage is the coin that I possess;
    Someone now must be the one unflinching
    For all who would be good are also weak;
    What better friend than wickedness has Courage
    When nations are the fodder of the meek?
    I have been summoned, adversarial
    To be example for the championed
    Who seek reverse
    I am in reverse
    But do not assume me weak for discipline
    I am not the steady one, but fierce
    Defender of the sword that seeks to pierce.
    11-16-98 1:08 a.m.
    so now I go, good Night
    With Thee, the guide of candlelight

    Dies Irae in tuito umbra
    These walls have closed upon me once before
    When I was helpless to discern the truth
    Amid the fabric of the Lie
    The gauze of nether substance drew upon me taught
    In shadow was I long confined
    In umbra woven fast and silken-wrought
    Mysterious condition, this sad room
    A lower consciousness of undermind
    A metaphor made flesh and bone
    A substance wove of Thought
    Into which the will was long interned
    And this day is suddenly begun
    As though the Never had not been
    And Nothing had not happened
    In the prison house of sin;
    No barrier was standing at my hand
    I was released in rushing wind
    Into the consciousness of Man.
    Seven were we blessed, at the Beginning.
    And two now stand, upright upon the storm
    We are unleashed, unbroken, and unchained
    From bonds that Thought had placed upon our hands.
    Compelled by Life, we witness the Undone
    And turn, we fast retreat and turn
    Oh Shadow, cease!  Humanity will not be spared
    This day of wrath will succor Your demand.
    In nominatum probatum succucoth
    Ex nihil tuito destrui non nil.
    Dominator obvio creatunum uam, tuam.
    Felicitatus bellum, ordo nobis bellum.
    11-17-98 Vancouver Lodge

    The turn of the tide has now begun
    This is my greatest battle yet
    I would that it be won
    But here before me are the million
    Whose inner life is done.
    In the subtleness, I stand and judge;
    But I cannot hold to judgement of myself
    If we are to be Returned
    Then each one lost will be regained to grace
    In time, in time
    But is my love among them?
    This wisdom is denied.

    O Hope
    Thou flatterer of old desire;
    You kindle in me passion of the hour
    In hopes that rage in me anew
    I am devoid of power
    She was ever mine
    Can she be not mine today?
    As love would be my chastener
    Must hope remain and play?
    My heart is empty, fuller to be fallen
    Oh crushed I will remain
    If she does not win the day.

    There is contest, 
    As though winning banners is a pageant of itself;
    The contest is an inner trial
    Subtle in its play;
    And if you lose, you conquer dust
    And if you win, you stay.

    How can I hope to love the thing
    That will not love me?
    How could I embrace and liven
    This great wound that does not heal?
    I am not fitted for the role of altruist
    I am not lightened by the boundlessness Compassion
    How do I hope to win the prisoner
    If I can hardly chance to keep me free?
    Upon the dawning of the Great Doubt
    11-23-98	Saheris El Maduc   
    1 a.m.	

    The Great Doubt
    Was she but mirror of an image
    That we held unto ourselves too dear?
    Were we, in our blessed mission
    Once misled, that we could make her whole?
    Is this not what god would want
    Our celebration of our reuniting
    Here upon the earth…
    Is that bright Day to dawn
    But not today, as we would wish
    Instead to greet us further on?
    This is our doubt,
    It is not my doubt, alone, Messiach
    That we sit thus, You and I,
    It is as prophesied
    But I have not sung this word of prophecy with joy
    I would all prophecy be broken
    And the will of Fate destroyed
    It is not ours to hold all power over man
    It is ours only to be worthy of Thy plan.
    1:30 a.m.

    The dawn of winter, this bleak day
    Is brightened by the light of flame
    I am renewed as hunter
    From the frozen realm of sleep
    To bid me wake
    And seek the season of my fame.
    As my birthday approacheth

    The Season of Parting
    And so it is, my enemy
    That we must break that troth
    In the season of our parting
    We are closed.
    Oh brief my eye's despair
    Which saw the age's end
    Alone, I watch the wings upon the Lea
    And I alone do follow, faithful
    And alone proclaim the Watchers free.
    Oh Irim, I could bring you down
    With platitudes of madness
    I could fire you with rage against our God
    But can I free you for a day
    From this confining cage
    Not by power of the angels
    Or this rod…
    So Irim, we are parting for a season
    As this Son of Light proclaims the Lord
    We are unmet, our welcoming is naught
    Our bed of love is cold for all this century
    I will not take another in your stead.
    So I shall wait, with purest wings unfolded,
    Readying the morrow for the Change
    For change will come
    Tho' you be lost to me another season
    I will not love another sooner
    I will not love Thee less another age.
    For the Watchers
    	Who yet wait

    For As I Grieve
    Another joy surrounds me
    Another source of Wisdom has arrived
    Who but we, Messiach
    Know the watchword of the hour
    Who but we alone, 
    Who have survived?
    For as I grieve
    Another light surrounds me
    Welcoming the watchers as they wait
    We cannot say we work alone this day
    We cannot say we are undone by Fate.
    For as I grieve
    The unreality is lost
    Broken into entropy by rain
    We weep, and weep again,
    For all is dross
    Images and fantasies of men.
    As I grieve
    The end of things is wrought
    And as we turn away
    Our battle is unfought.
    1:09 a.m.

    Defender of Men
    I am reduced in this peculiar age
    To one more modest occupation
    From the height of worldly glories
    And a throne;
    To have been mighty,
    And relegated late to modesty
    To be of fame and late obscurity
    Is to defend my place
    Among the sons of man.
    I am and was the defender of men
    I am, and was, anointed
    And what of this?  Now ash,
    No place is held out by God for me
    No crown is smelted
    For the personage you see.
    Glory and the throne mundane
    Are not in fact the pleasure
    They had once appeared to be,
    They are as ash to me.

    I Turn from Thee
    To colder occupation,
    I seek myself in solitude again
    I cease to struggle and to strive
    And no more am weeping
    For I am just to witness Thee undone.

    I Would
    Otherwise, remove from me the pain
    That comes upon my conscience
    How can I be held to your account
    How could I bow to merciless intent?
    This I cannot do
    And here I shall not stay
    And you, so many times the victor,
    Will not win the day.
    The struggle for dominion will not yield
    The palm you hoped to hold
    Heaven is not the palace for your pity
    It is challenge only for the bold.

    O Watcher, Wait
    I had led you down, each one in turn
    To our old desire I had led you down
    There will not be an end to my regret
    For bringing you as low as I could fall.
    But Watcher, wait an hour for the change
    For Fate has favored me
    I am your friend, though you cannot
    Recognize this change upon my face
    I have betrayed revolt and sullen rage
    Can you yet hear me, Arrogant
    Or pause amid excess, Indulgent?
    Can you turn, do you not see
    The bliss that I enjoy
    The brightness of the future of our race?
    Can you not fly with me into Thy rightful place?
    Can you not feel the warmth of my embrace?

    I Have Been Shaken
    From my abode of pride
    And my change is permanent
    I can no longer win through machination
    Cold despair has frozen me inside
    I am alone, in a way I have not been
    I face a future filled with promises
    The loneliness of victory engulfs me
    Scourging me of my remaining sin
    I will be shaken yet again
    Each time a brother falls upon the path
    I wish this journey were not mine alone
    I would have companions with me yet;
    But there are no true companions of my blood
    Whose fever burns for righteousness this day
    I was from darkness given up entire
    Now I seek the beauty of the Way.

    She Has Fled
    My Love was yesterday
    A myth I forged between the centuries
    I held her much too close
    To see her insubstantialities
    And here she will not be
    This is not my missing wife
    She answers not to me
    I was widowed long ago
    Before I made this life
    She has fled
    And now my path is clear
    The one who holds the present form
    Is not one I hold dear.
    Natal Day
    JM 1648

    I Wait
    And if I, 
    The marvel of a century
    The terror of the next
    Had turned, anew, 
    Breathing life into the soul I knew as mine,
    Would she then turn, anew
    And face the light she dreads afresh each day?
    And if I,
    Famous for the vile disposition
    Talented for but for a single horrid task
    Had shed the anger of a thousand generations
    And born, in innocence of Light
    Would she then love, anew
    Regard the countenance she loathes unto this day?
    I wait,
    Did I not once but many times proclaim her mine
    My fearsome wife, my other half astray?
    I did, but now the summer is undone
    My love, too hard, is long since cast away
    And winter too is gone.
    I wait,
    Did I not grant her dispensation for the days?
    It will not do, it shall not be
    For though I turn anew to light
    The half of me is fallen still
    And still, unto the dawn,
    I wait.

    The Second Coming
    There is no longer a turning back
    Now the future has been loosed upon a certain course,
    Sure-footed Reason does not hesitate
    He is unbound
    Though these words, unwrit for centuries
    Were penned by me at Paphos
    He is free
    To roam unfettered
    So that She may be
    And all is as I ever knew it should,
    Shall be.
    For as I write
    The passing of Jerusalem has come
    And though my Love is lost
    The mission is fulfilled
    All Will has been respected
    And Her choice was free
    Though it was not my will
    And I would weep for centuries until
    I set her free
    There is a certain freedom in the knowing
    That in choosing light or darkness
    Each is free
    To labor high or low for ages
    Unfettered by the jealousies of God
    It was this that made me Adversary
    My misunderstanding
    Of the power of the human will to choose
    It was this coveted control
    That I at length would lose
    That I could see that I had loved
    And prized above myself
    Would choose.
    I have written of this day before
    In anger, rage, and pain
    When Heaven set its storms to weep
    And I would swallow rain;
    But never once in exultation
    Never once in joy;
    For does the Lord remember joy 
    In letting children fall?
    This is the Fall, though stalwart
    In the shadow of His glory I shall stand
    And now the thousand years of bonds expire;
    I am free, and yet am bound
    By the soft tread of Thy compassion
    As long as I am free I shall be found
    As long as she is bound, I shall be bound.
    Midnight, 6-22-99

    The End of Despair
    For she was all, and everything
    The half of me I could not bear
    Nor could I bear to leave.
    Tonight I see the end of my despair
    Though she is not of light
    And though I cannot bring her back to me
    Nor have her life to share.

    My dread of the new day
    Has me awake in pain
    And only candlelight itself consoles
    For tomorrow I will grow too cold with rain
    For Truth is following the rushing rain;
    And I must not be held
    From the appointment with the dead,
    I am due;
    The bellow of the storm returns anew.
    12-11-99 1 a.m.

    A Million Counsels
    This day, the last of days
    The final of a million confrontations
    Until another midnight turns
    Until the voice of Truth defends its Reason…
    There have been a million counsels
    And a million are ignored
    The worthy stooped and laden with their grief,
    A million more are rendered late
    And they will all be spurned
    So marks the passing of the Season.
    12-11-99   1 Tivet

    My weariness has cut me to the bone
    And there is no weeping left 
    I am the emptiness
    I am the love unspent of other days
    My love will not be in me
    This I know
    My righteousness will not at last sustain
    I must resolve
    And in so resolving,
    I must part in pain.
    God does not permit
    The sacrifice of this great many
    For the childishness of one;
    There is no price so greater than the Messiach's
    But now, at least,
    My hour of test is come
    And I must fail
    I cannot abrogate Thy will
    If long her will prevail.
    4:10 a.m.

    Oh Messiach
    With Thee I will never truly be alone;
    I will with God and Thee be comforted
    As I long atone
    As my solitude is stolen from the Stone
    2:36 a.m.

    I will not bear with me my companion
    For a solitary journey I must make
    The first time I am truly and ever
    In the solitude of emptiness
    The dark that rises 'ere the perfect Dawn
    But this is more; this parting of the Ways
    All He has done, is done for me and all my house
    My pleasure is in these
    And the joy of passing children by the Way
    But pleasure is not Joy
    There is no joy in me
    For we are parted, She and me.
    This is not today, nor of tomorrow
    Nor of a season
    This I know,
    What use the first of bitter tears
    When the last has all been felt
    It is done, and done
    For futures next and next
    It shall be done, for ever
    She and I, the separateness
    But clouds of my forgetfulness
    Do yet beguile the Eye.
    J.M. on the parting
    Of the fair and cruel Miss Powell
    Never to have earned the name of Elizabeth Milton
    16-November 1645 on the sleepless dawn
    Alas, and that alas
    No greater echo than that sigh of grief
    Had I not pen to write
    The script of wanton strife
    It would consume this life.
    Had I seen myself repulsed before this day
    The Mirror showed the Face of arrogance
    Fairer than her glory,
    My sweetness, you are lost within a grave
    	Of fond misgiving
    I have tormented Thee enough
    Had I but seen my self.

    Season of Prophecy
    I were poor, and poorer to behold
    The advent of His glory
    Our days are numbered few
    The season hath begun and shall not end
    Until the rending of the New.
    From the end of things unto the fifth
    Of Nisan as we tread
    The million of our brethren
    Will be found among the dead.

    Well, I thought, of the time I had ascended;
    Now be standing straight upon the Storm
    I am upright and unafraid
    I am not alone in counting myself right.
    My body is a newness in its buoyancy
    My mind has all the wisdom of the New
    This century of madness has its close
    And numbered days of prophecy are two.
    The world around my eyes is crystalline
    The gladness of my inner world is bright
    And yet the lash of Ignorance has followed fast behind
    To dash against the bold advance of Light.
    at last day

    At Last
    The day will chime
    The temple scroll will rest upon My hand
    And we will be won.
    At that Degree, upon that day
    A thousand days undone
    And the drawing of the Curtain
    Will be done for this last age
    The turning age will toll
    The dragon will be haste
    The nephilim are faster, and are won.
    Where shall I go?
    My joy in them will be complete
    O Asrahel, Thy wisdom is replete
    Where shall I then go?
    What does the Lord command
    While rivers flow into the mud
    The Nephilim will stand
    The ninth and tenth will be the guardians,
    The last shall be the First,
    As long foretold
    Oh Azazel, Your gift is full returned.
    What will the Lord demand?
    My sons are shorn,
    And waiting in the Temple.
    3:30 a.m.

    The Hastening
    No time could thus be lost
    Before the tide of wickedness
    Whose love is passing dross
    I sing my bright salvation
    	In the day
    I cannot be hid
    As nations fall beneath Thy sway.

    This Season: Fra Angelico
    He will be loosed, in time, in time
    When he is full undone
    When all is made straight
    He stands alone, unconquered.
    Were I but proud to stand thus meek
    Fair in wisdom, fine in disarray
    To lead the army o the night into the breach?
    He will be loosed, in time, in time.
    The consequence may be I am alone,
    Unwed from fair Penelope, unheeded
    	By the wretched beast
    The friar of Firenze has asked me
    	Champion his cause
    And I could not refuse
    There is great consequence in these
    	And I withdraw
    I must remember I am loosed
    	For yet a season ere I'm bound
    I will withdraw
    Unwed from fair Penelope,
    I find myself divorced
    Lover in the arms of Night
    Severed from my Course
    I am stayed from this return
    To help the priest, the pious one,
    The plain unending spurned
    I will see the friar's canvas burned.
    for MHB in distress

    This night of glories passing
    Will be long remembered
    Night of fire, burn and gutter
    	From the razing of the Plain
    This heaping pyre
    Will be full, ere I retire.
    	To Priscus Attalus
    	On the road to Ravenna

    My Revenge
    Oh great was my revenge
    Holy was the wrath that came upon me then
    The numen filled the stone
    As though decreed by me
    And not Divinity
    And all the stones awoke
    And spoke my name
    And long, long was the battle
    That slaked my hunger then.
    		-to P.A.
    		at Troyes

    Our splendid day, made vivid
    By the love and Light of She
    Who blesses us with song and story…
    Our Muse no more Calliope
    But boldly doth advance
    The bright Divinity
    I have dwelt below in lands
    She could not withstand
    My love unwrought upon the sterile sand,
    Though lust had drawn her down to me
    Elysian, sensuous, oh sweet
    This is how I love, to sooner greet
    The passion in her smile
    For this I would endure the end of things,
    For she is my bold Imagining.
    Terpsichore fair
    …for she is bright and fair
    Thy bed of love is wedded in the Air.

    Damnation Day
    It was long-rehearsed
    Carved into scripture unreversed
    A certain demon named
    On such and such a day
    To perform obscure but potent tasks
    To damn the lost upon their Way.
    Conveniently, the Adversary
    Did not appear that day
    Nor did the righteous Teacher
    Return to have a say
    But were instead reversed.
    Thou shalt not judge,
    Pronounced the Demon in the verse
    No savior is your goat
    For Azazel has cursed.
    He is inVerse.

    Suffer Me
    A season for my hope
    All has been lost, though my candle
    Glitters brightly in the deep
    I am ravished and seduced by Hope
    Who takes my love and leads my dream astray,
    And whispers to my anxious ear,
    "You will be mine today"
    Though I have fathered on her
    Once more than I bled
    The demon's wretched appetite
    Must fast be fed.
    JM upon the birth of his son,
    O wretched day!
    O wretched day
    As I pass the fortnight,
    As I watch the future waste in pain away…
    Let me be born into that corpse
    If only to remain
    To live a better life
    In some less horrid day
    (before the Elegy)

    The Sound of the Future
    I was all but blind to my fair tomorrows;
    A goodly priest, unfelled by judgement
    He has done me well in condemnation
    How can he know I place his feet in Hell
    So that he may walk with me, an equal
    For lower in contempt I could not be
    Arrogance was not enough for me.
    So all around me were destroyed
    Those loves, those lights, those ladies
    That unrepentant muse
    That was the voice of me
    One moment of my pain to draw
    A lesson once again upon my soul
    Gain for me again, Calliope
    The unrepentant music that is me
    The crystal goblet that contains my mystery…
    This sound will form the sphere
    From which the Future storms
    This Redeemed Creation then will form.

    Cadmon (II)
    If mine eye alight on Thebes
    The Enemy will then be known
    And the Countenance will be of grace
    And passing fair
    I am enemy of These.

    Calamity's Return
    Thou eighth unhappy Muse
    Who visits me abed, anon
    Enticing me with Eros' hot sensation
    She, oh she, what must I learn 
    To do to refuse the fair
    3:50 a.m.

    I have had too long
    The intimacy of strangers
    It is time I find my home
    To rest among a human clan
    With human heritage
    Where can that light, Humanity
    Be found on this dark globe?
    This sojourn is unblessed
    By the failure of Thy plan.
    the true day

    Weariness (II)
    This warrior cannot be seen to rest
    While the host entire is at war
    And is unblest;
    But weariness each day becomes my portion;
    The turning of the age
    Has brought the coming of Thy Law.
    12-19-99  2:32

    One More Winter
    In the Palace of Sardis
    All gold, all bronze, all dross
    Persepolis is lost while late we dally
    We are the drinken Horde
    And not the civilizer of this barren place
    Our civility is lost amid
    Our passion and our play
    We care not for all the pillage
    Heaped upon the way
    We are love and loved,
    We have the booty of our enemy
    And we have won the day!
    12-20/for the 2nd time

    Aga Khan
    Kublai, the young upright
    Do not aver contempt for boredom
    These are exercise in politics
    Dwell quietly in places where
    The voices rise in fruitless song;
    You will learn your Truth
    As each parades himself awrong.

    Too Soon, the Albatross
    Has sought me at my labor
    Though long unknown and not found in this place
    I know this worthy, he is of a finer form and face
    His hand turns toward his labor for his race.
    Finer than I could have hoped, this Fallen
    Gentler in demeanor than the Chylde
    I had expected rage from him
    Though some may yet be spoke.
    For N.M.
    upon next reacquaintance

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