Poetry

I heard a damsel with her lute reclaim the lost song of the soul; into the wind she poured each note, each in pursuit and fleet pursuit

It is the world, tonight, that I let go, when thoughts too far from words burn on my tongue, and rest’s ache rests upon me here, among the sundered stars that I shall never know.

One evening bright with blazing cloud I climbed a rocky crest, and saw the Phoenix tall and proud building up his nest.

O daughter of the gently valleyed hills, where like a child I lie against your breast, my cares all fled into the utter west, you give the dew of Hermon for my ills, that from your heart distills.

Acts 16:16-17 For seven years I walked with demon guides, divining deathless words for mortal men; tales of dark wisdom they gave me besides, draining my soul and filling it again