Winged Earth Magazine

Thy Gods proved puppets of the priest.
      "Truth? All's relation!" science sighed.
In bondage with they brother's beast,
      Love tortured thee, as Love's hope died
And Love's faith rotted. Life no least
      Dim star descried.

Thy cringing carrion cowered and crawled
      To find itself a chance-cast clod
Whose Pain was purposeless; appalled
      That aimless accident thus trod
Its agony, that void skies sprawled
      On the vain sod!

All souls eternally exist,
      Each individual, ultimate,
Perfect - each makes itself a mist
      Of mind and flesh to celebrate
With some twin mask their tender tryst
      Insatiate.

Som drunkards, doting on the dream,
      Despair that it should die, mistake
Themselves fo their own shadow-scheme.
      On star can summon them to wake
To self; star-souls serene that gleam
      On life's calm lake.

That shall end never that began.
      All things endure because they are.
Do what thou wilt, for every man
      And ever woman is a star.
Pan is not dead; he liveth, Pan!
      Break down the bar!

To man I come, the number of
      A man my number, Lion of Light;
I am The Beast whose Law is Love.
      Love under will, his royal right -
Behold within, and not above,
      One star in sight!