Thursday, August 26, 2004


[based on ISAIAH 6]

Weary from hunger of spirit

Through grim waste land I dragged my way,

And a six-winged seraph came to me

At a place where two paths crossed.

With finger-tips as light as sleep

He touched the pupils of my eyes,

And my mantic pupils opened

Like eyes of an eagle scared.

As his fingers touched my ears

They were filled with roar and clang:

And I heard the shuddering of the sky,

And angel's mountain flight,

And sea beasts moving in the deep,

And growth of valley vine.

And he pressed against my mouth,

And out he plucked my sinful tongue,

And all its guile and empty words,

And taking a wise serpent's tongue

He thrust it in my frozen mouth

With his incarnadine right hand.

And with his sword he cleft my breast,

And out he plucked my trembling heart,

And in my gaping breast he placed

A coal alive with flames.

Like a corpse I lay in the waste land,

And I heard God's voice cry out:

"Arise prophet, and see and hear,

Be charged with my will --

And go out over seas and lands

To fire men's hearts with the word."

Society seeks stability,

the artist -- infinity.