The night sky is whirling high above,
endless suns that blind our thought;
we think we know it through the telescope,
but scarce can know the splendors rising there.
With liquid words I strive to bare my soul,
with poetry that pours out from the heart;
outside a man, inside a universe,
how can you know the galaxies within?
I ache now to let you know my mind,
this bright splendor demands to overflow,
but, my mouth now open, I cannot speak;
no speech, no song, conveys my heart and soul.
How can I find the words to capture fields
of suns so bright, like dust upon this stream,
each blazing out in songs I cannot sing,
and what you know of me is but a gleam.
I wish you could see it, I wish I could show
the oceans running through me full of stars that glow,
an abyss of light within me, mute infinity,
but you will never know the universe within;
you will never know the universe I am.
Darkening clouds growl and crash,
tongues of storm, lightning splash,
cavalry across the sky;
bolting stallions madly dash,
unafraid to blaze and die.
Worlds are hurled by roaring wind,
wild bacchanals descend;
these showers flood;
no roof, no shield
can from the dripping drops defend,
each drop a wish on pavement-field.
Those wishes wash my words away,
no language left, just heart to pray.
Trajan by Baptism
The rule of the lion is rule over pride,
where killed is the evil which gnaws one inside,
where found is the godhood which in one has died,
where blood washes all, and one's death is new life.
The wolves in their mourning howl out their lack
as they trace in the snow the shadow of track,
in harry and hunt and the strength of the pack,
as blood washes all, and one's death is new life.
For never is given to man's mortal eye
by wings of his own to sunny vales fly
or else he will fall with Icarus-cry--
but blood washes all, and one's death is new life.
And only by others is blood gladly shed,
and only by one who most painfully bled
can ever arise the soul of the dead,
when blood washes all, and one's death is new life.
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