And if it were not thy clay to mould me here,
Shall it not be my soul to cumber here,
Ere the horns or burgundy to rapture far,
Mine art so few but ill esteem,
Thine heart murmurs with every word too ill
That no sober mind could never erase,
Whomever called, was but whisper to glide.
A lonely star in the mist of lonely dark,
Simple fair and simple told shine so high,
Were it not for dark, no light ere appear,
In Whom I Address for that I am to aspire
To tell Thee, the glory of Sun to expire
My ageing days for hours long passed to fall,
Lest befall’n the mountain high more recall,
Bear witness to tears as ice in me to pierce,
Heat that no sober man conjure all too fierce,
Shall melt the ice and in tears condense,
That I shall breathe the salty lake’s essence,
And from thy hand form the largest ocean part,
Stars from far and bide through time depart,
The face of the blind expanded Universe,
Shall remain God’s final and only verse,
Thy words shall print in blood by name,
Whilst my steps upon the mount come tame.

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Life, Mysterious, Mystical, Poetry, Works
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