Gottverdammerung, 3

In this scene, Ertha refrains Elmallah’s lament with one of her own. She has seen her authority and power progressively fade, from being a goddess (Innonna/Ishtar, Bouk 3), to an empress (Byzantine Theyodorra, Bouk 4), to the intellectual partner of a renowned philosopher (Helloweez, Bouk 5), to what? A nameless woman caught in the onrush of history.

Rivkaz Lamment

O I hav bin a goddess;
I roze up in the sky.
O I hav bin a goddess;
I rode the waevz on hi.

O gloreyus my powwer
Tu raze the towwering waevz ,
Or klap my handz in thunder
And rowz the hewman slave.

So tell me wut it meenz tu be a goddess
Karresst intu an idel made ov klay;
And tell me how it feelz tu see yur immij
Dry intu dust and slolee blo awway.

I hu spannd the ajez
Frum Innonna and Astartee
Tu Isht and Afroditee;
Hu spanned the en-dimmensha
Frum objeks withowt mass
Tu feeldz ov antee time;
Hu spanned the raenj ov ekstasseez
Frum sex tu Elmallah;
Awl my werldz ar a lump in my throet.
My wizdem frum a bouk lernd by rote.

Lamment for my chieldz
Hu ar torn in konflikt,
And lamment for me
Huze little wunz will die.
The armeez parrade in perfekt presizhen
But thay stagger tu battel drunk on liez.

Lamment for my chieldz
Hu ar torn in konflikt;
Hu defy thaer konshents
In merderres lust.
Wut will happen tu thaer boddeez
Wen thaer Soelz ar but dust?

Now tell me wut it meenz tu be a preestess
And tell me wut it meenz tu speek the trueth.
I hav a hundred boddeez and a konshents for eech wun
Wich wun am I, and wut iz the pruef?

O I hav bin a goddess
And I hav bin a kween
And I hav bin a hor
But at leest I wuz free.
And alwayz I wuz shor
I stoud abbuv the law.
O I hav bin deluded.
I hav oenlee bin in thrawl.

Lamment for me
Huze eyz ar opend.
Lamment for me
And my histeree ov liez.
I hav wun life
And a thowzend illuzhenz.
O Elloheem and Elmallah
Lamment for me.

Gottverdammerung, 2

In this scene, the Messenger, Elmallah, descends from his heavens to the woman Ertha, to once again try to lift her up. At the end of his descent...

I Had Wun Life

O, I wuz varee happee;
I livd amung my peerz.
O, I wuz varee blissful;
My werl did not kno feer.

O, I wuz full ov wunder;
The law wuz my expere.
O, all my akts wer wunderz;
My Gode wuz varee neer.

I hav wun life;
I liv 100 lieftiemz.
O, all yu paeshent aenjelz
Lamment for me.

I hav wun Konshents;
It spanz 1000 boddeez.
Yu dreemerz and misteks
Kommune with me.

Now tell me how it feelz tu be an aenjel
And tell me how it feelz tu wok with Gode.
Yu take wun step; yu kross 1000 lieftiemz;
Yu tern arownd and see them dissappeer.
And tell me how it feelz tu be exxalted,
And tel me wut it meenz tu tok with Gode.
Yu heer wun Werd; the werlz bekum tranzparen.
Yu liv 1000 lieftiemz in a Moment ov Bliss.

Now tell me wut it meenz tu be benited,
And tell me how it feelz tu looz yur site.
I bliendlee stumbel down theze naro alleez,
My shaking hand on damp and krumbling wawlz.
Wut ar the werdz tu pennatrate the darkness?
Wut ar the praerz tu open hoepless iyz?
Kan I kast down liez and brake them on the kobbelz?
Will thay shatter and retern me tu the lite?
And looking down
towards Sodom and Gomorrah...,
he saw the smoke of the land
rising like the smoke of a kiln.
-- Beraysheet 19:28

Europa, Europa: further discussion

My very good friend and fellow pilgrim, Greg Barker responded in this way to my poem of July 24, 2008, Europa, Europa:

GB:
Powerful. The Muslim flood IS coming. And it seems that you are suggesting that Freethinking-Atheism will not be providing anything more than that which can be choked on.

SMB:
My thought is that hollow men do not have the wherewithal to resist people with a mission. And that an empty soul will seek to be filled.

GB:
Can you tell me more about:
Their little bigots, they call them prophets,
Whose manifesto reads, "You are the hollow men."

SMB:
T.S. Eliot., the so-called great poet/prophet of C20, and his equally bigoted sidekick Ezra Pound. These men have done untold damage to culture, in my opinion. These are the kind of people that the Prophet Jeremiah railed against. And I will follow in Jeremiah’s footsteps.

GB:
I could carry on with so many more questions that this has sparked...and don't know if you want to go down these roads...but I'll put it out there anyways. I think the George Lucas of the 70's had some parallel concerns. Did he offer any solution in his mythology?

SMB:
Not sure what you mean here. The battle between good and evil in Star Wars? I'm not saying Islam is evil in this poem. I'm saying Europe's soul is dying, and that Christianity is in big trouble and may need some serious rethinking if it wants to survive in Europe. I'm hinting at the fact that nazism may have succeeded in at least one of its programs. By undermining and discrediting Europe’s Christian foundations, Europe has been re-paganized, in a manner of speaking. In the end Europe’s secular paganism will not stand up against existential spiritual yearnings, and the focus and authority of monotheism.

Where might this all go? Clearly, Europe won't become Jewish [smile]. But either Christianity will revitalize itself, or Islam will make significant, even massive inroads. The revitalization of Christianity is not out of the question. We see a religious resurgence in Eastern Europe and Russia after its long-standing ideological suppression. However, the Islamification of secular Europe might be a very interesting thing if it brings about the liberalizing of Islam's fundamentalism. Wouldn't that be an ironic and surprising development? And with a liberal Islam, the religious wars of the last 2000 years might very well come to a non-apocalyptic, and spiritually elevated end! We might finally be able to put the jihadist and hate-embedded apocalyptic mythology of Christianity and Islam behind us.

Gottverdammerung

I have begun to prepare a fair copy of Book 6 of the Song ov Elmallahz Kumming. This is long, long overdue. Here is the opening panorama. BTW, this book is tentatively entitled Gottverdammerung.

A Strobe Lite on Erthaz Werld

A man migraten tu a land, fownd dry dust.
He tilld with grate laber.
A lush garden bloomz.

An eegel bilt a nest in a windee krag
And hatcht an eg.
She fed her yung and raezd it,
Tu kast it frum the nest.
She kot it tu kast it aggen.
Her yung iz made tu sore.

A man tosst and ternz a fitful sleep.
He woud wake but be unnabel to rize.
He woud dreem ov being awwake.
He woud dreem a sereez ov awwakeningz
In eech, surprize! He iz not alreddee awwake.
The werldz swam, hiz dreemz,
En-dimmenshenz ov illuzhen awoven.

A yung liyon livd a grate plennatude.
Frum hiz abunden he enterd a nu land
A subdu it tu hiz rule.
A wield plase, full ov kunning.
Deseet, vermen, hunger.
Kan a liyon streng prevael in such?

Why I write verses

An angel came and plopped himself down in my study last night. No one listened to him but me. Some people didn’t even see him. Sad, sad world we live in, eh? Oh well. He said,

“It is difficult to see a way ahead for the human race--though I fully believe there must be ways ahead.”

I suppose he was checking to see how closely my thoughts aspired to his. I’ll have to ask him the next time he stops by. Anyway, this is what I said, more or less:

Defining and declaring those ways ahead is critical. As I've said many times, quoting/misquoting Fred Turner, ‘we cannot build a better world if we don't first imagine what it will look like.’

Putting aside those who can only look backwards and cluck their tongues at how bad the world has become. And those who can only make cynical comments about our current state, but who have themselves done absolutely nothing to find a better path forward. And those who draw realistic pictures of the world and say, ‘this is all there is.’ And those who exaggerate, twist up, misrepresent, and just plain lie about how things are, in their vicious hypocrisy. There are yet many with faith, who believe that we can find a good way forward.

But too often those with such faith look so far ahead, they lose touch with who/what/where we are. Most religious thinkers and moralizers are driven by messianic visions that hang only by a thread to this world. Or take Marx, in his socialist dream. He is a perfect example of a utopian who forgot that he had to work with real people. Can anyone articulate the next step, rather than the final step? The final step is easy: people who are moral, wise, happy, full of wonder and love.

So how can we invoke more love from ourselves? That is a question dear to my angel friend, and is a theme he is working on in all his mystical machinations. How can we inspire more wonder? That was A.J. Heschel's theme. The problem is, we actually need to build the tools, and not just talk about what we ought to do, or where we ought to be. Perhaps that’s what the Buddha intended with his 8-fold path. That is definitely the purpose of all the 12-step programs that have become so popular, but which, unfortunately, are mostly just intended to get us back to “normal.”

I would suggest that art must take a leading role here. We have all seen great films that were meant to inspire people to want to love more or be wiser or be kinder. And at least until the 20th century, this was a major topic for literature. But still, there’s a problem. There’s plenty of inspirational material, but little that gives us a detailed how-to. Real change is assumed, but the process is glossed over.

What a contrast to our technological world! We can build all kinds of wonderful tools, to wash clothes or to fly to the moon. But we live in a world of dearth when it comes to psychological and spiritual tools.

The US - Iran axis can be seen as a stereotypic model (remembering that stereotypes distort and misrepresent even while offering a template). In the US people live in a Roman wilderness of indulgence. Or more crudely, people grow fat and stupid on junk food and junk entertainment. In Iran people live enchained in harsh religious mores that suppress creativity and diversity. Crudely, people are xenophobic and ignorant.

In general, we see a medieval world of ruthless oppressions to control rampant sinfulnesses. In the example above it's the sneering ayatollahs vs the fat Americans. Both are lawless and revolting, each in their separate ways. In both states there can be no dignity. Dignity must be earned through restraint and sensitivity. There is no restraint where indulgence reigns, and nothing can be earned where behavior is controlled from without. This is the state of our moral and psychological technology. Medieval.

And therefore I compose verses, trying to show how real people come to grips with new ways to see the world. Ahhh, to such little avail.

Inside Yeats' Byzantium

Europa, Europa

And over and over the mockers mock
And the brutish bellow like a donkey brays.
Europe withers like an orchid in the heat.
It staggers like an old man and gasps for a drink.

Like an old cistern that is filled with trash,
Their empty churches molder and leak.
Like a library full of illuminated books,
But the whole population is unable to read.

The monarchists were right! The people are fools.
They cannot choose leaders or find their way.
They massacred the Messiah People among them,
Then mocked the Messiah followers’ faith.

Their little bigots, they call them prophets,
Whose manifesto reads, “You are the hollow men.”
And hollow they became, withered and parched,
And no one knows where to find a drink.

Like floodlands protected by levees and dikes,
Their skinheads and marxists are rotten and weak.
The seas rise and the flood rumbles
And the parched people only choke in the heat.

Their children already cry, "water, water!"
But no one hears them, or finds them a cup.
The dams will break, like Byzantium's did,
And choking they’ll drown in a Muslim flood.

Carried upon Eagle's Wings

Continuing with Ben Azziy's latest adventures in Pardaes, the higher worlds. He and his 3 chevruta partners are attempting to unlock the passageways to direct access to Pardaes. In Part 1 he tumbles out of the sky...

Ben Azzai Fallz Frum the Egelz Nest, II.
               And you shall say to them:
               ‘Shall they fall and not rise?’
                    Yermeyahu 8:4

Last nite, behoeld! Uddoniy relees me frum thoze tallenz
The grippee, kleengee, stickkee streengz, the Addom,
Hu luerz me in hiz kwest for erthee knowen.
     So saverree the wouman frute,
          The rownden, blushee, charee brests,
               The kerlee haer, the darken chantee iyz
               In all thaer deepen dizzee deths.
                    The snakee entiesmen,
               On and on;
          A liebraree a storeez
     Abbowt theze erthee boddeez and nekterree fruets.

But az I say, last nite releest.
A wonder in the pallas and its mazee thotwaez.
I wuz stept intu a passij;
Then a sens ov gaspee rizen. Like I say, releest.
Sumtheeng fell awway, I kno not wut, nor ware it iz.
But I am here, a song within a hartbeet
In the interweev a tiedz ammung a thowzen seez.
A vast, o serj, unnutterreenglee werd,
The all and nutheengness ov Godseeng, saeng, unsung.

Carried upon Eagle's Wings

Ben Azzai Fallz Frum the Egelz Nest, I.

Last nite, behoeld! Uddoniy relees me frum Hem tallenz.
The momen ov relees an its joy,
Till I awwake, fallen thru the aerz:
Bloen vilen in the wind, long haer streemen bak,
Kloethz billo, taren frum my limmz,
My werth az a messagger bloen awway with my kepa;
My werth az a hewman. Relees! Relees.
Fall, o messagger, wile the egel fly on.

This mornen, behoeld! Uddoniy relees me frum Hem tallenz.
The eternatteez ov relees an its thanks,
Even az I awwake in this aera a sepperraten
Ware I am laen in this garden. Uddoniy abbuv
Louks down frum Ware-I-Kno-Not
Uppon this braken boddee ov a skwerl
Or a lamm, or ennee ole praez,
Laen down beneeth Hem nest, a later feed am I.

C and the horizons of time, IV.

The fourth, and probably last, in this series begun 6/24:

Aenjelman Dreemz

IV. And the Dotter ov Sawl Had No Chield

Wen I kaem tu the wouman the garden a saje,
All fraegren az insens, an shining a gaze.
2 twisted loevz, a goblet a wine,
And a bouk a seengz in a soft resiet.

I approech her tabel, a deziyerren trueth,
And sed, "Du yu seek wut iz not in yur bouk?
     "I am seen yu naked. Wer I naked tu yu?"
She blusht. She blansht. She belied her louks
And sed, "Ive bin wunderen the saem ov yu."

But her fother overheerz and wuz graetlee dismayd.
He kloisterd her up ware she yet remaenz.
Then sendz hiz dogz, wonten my repent,
With thaer toothee grinz and kiendess skant.

For a momen I see her thru the serfassez a dreem.
Then the kerrents drag down and she kant be seen.
               "Michal, Saul's daughter, looked through a window,
               and saw king David leaping and dancing before the Lord;
               and she despised him in her heart."
               2 Shmuel, 6:16

C and the horizons of time, III.

Continuing with this series begun on 6/24, here is the third moment of

Aenjelman Dreemz

III. Theyodorra Owt ov Kostume
Wen I kaem tu the wouman the garden the keeng,
All kweenlee she wer, with her saffiyer reengz
And her jewwel-studdee, lasee, errottee vaelz.
Tho the keeng be distent, empereyus, feerd,
She meengelz in the pepel, street and skware.

Yet varee mistereyus her vois in the keeng.
Tu advize and exhort, or weep and plee?
Up tu my waest in her dreemz, I say,
     “Wy ar yur feeldz thik dust and stubbel?
     “Yur pepel weree, korrupt, and trubbeld.”
     “Wy du yu taree, yu hu karee the keez?”
Frum the skwallen wotterz ov dreem she siy,
     “Woud yu hav me sees my wisperree seeng,
     “And maek not a sownd frum my flutteree weengz?”

Allone in my studdee in the tide-run a praer
I resite nu powemz tu induse her Spere.

Sum say this vizhen iz grownded in:
               “and, behold, Miriam had become leprous,
               white as snow;
               Let her be shut out from the camp seven days,
               and after that let her be received in again:”
               Bemidbar, 12:10,14

C and the horizons of time, II.

Continuing with the series begun on 6/24, here is the second moment of

Aenjelman Dreemz

II. Innonna on Sunset
Wen I kaem tu the wouman in her plezher plase,
All mithen she wer, all Ishtar tu be.
If shame she knu and berth she knu,
The trueth, dizzolvz in the nervee shellz.
Or a siy in the thunderen starree millz.

I spake tu her in her hottee despaer,
"Du yu kno yu ar not the bride* ov the Lor?"
               *utherz say: chozen
And, "Thaze that prae tu yu ar no mor!"
"Yu," she sooth say, "I will yet seddues!"
Braken klae tabelz ar all that remaen
Waer the goddess clasht with the Inneffabel Rime.

Long I waet uppon Babballonz mownd.
The heet, the starz, and the wind a howl.
“Come down, and sit in the dust,
               O virgin daughter of Babylon,
               sit on the ground; there is no throne...
               your nakedness shall be uncovered,
               your shame shall be seen.”
               Yesheyahhu 47:1,3

C and the horizons of time

Aenjelman Dreemz

Prolog
I wuz a dreem I wuz an aenjel;
I wuz ov them hu kan step owtside a time.
I wok thoze hi ramparts arrown my Lor,
Hem Tempel wallz, the eternel dwellenz,
Seeking the holeez in the addom shellenz.

I. Kall me Eve
Wen I kaem tu the wouman in her garden a faeth,
All godstuff she iz, a perfekten a form.
Befor she knu shame and the *layerz a trueth*
               ** utherz say: bitterz ov berth
I spoke tu her. Such an eeger yueth.
I sed, “Du yu kno yu ar naked in yur Lor?”
And “Du yu long tu expere a truwer werd?”
“Serpent,” she kalld me. The Lor kaem down
Tu punnish me, but she fled her grownd.
Tu retern she must enter my eternatteez ov lite.
Long, long I waet till she konker her frite.
               “The man and woman hid themselves from God...”
               Beraysheet, 3:8

Blindness, blindness, be my pillow

Ah, you world of restless dreams and anxieties!

Night by night I go hunting for a key. It is lost, but I cannot discover why. Either I have lost it, or an angel dropped it, and I have been sent here to find it. Ah, it is lost, and the irony is this: I cannot return from my mission until I find it. It is the key to unlock the gates of matter.

Night by night I go hunting for the key. The key is lost in a dream world. Each morning I wake, cut off from my dreams. My labors by day are dreary. I must find the key, but here I am, locked in this world of matter.

Night by night I go hunting for this key. I know the hour of waking is approaching and my dreams turn troubled. Am I awake or am I sleeping? I test myself. In the world of dreams impossible things happen. Reason has no hold. I say to myself, “if this is a dream, then let this river run backwards!” It begins to run backwards and I know I am dreaming, so I wake myself. “Do not wake yourself the next time,” I think.

Night by night I go hunting for this precious key. I must learn if I am dreaming, so I can use my time fruitfully to find a way beyond matter. “If this is a dream, let that palm tree plant itself a hundred meters hence.” It replants itself. Now knowing I am dreaming, I become ardent in my search. I must see more clearly. I open my eyes. I awake. “Do not open your eyes next time,” I think.

I am writing this while it is daytime. Or is it? Am I dreaming? The walls of my house stand firm. Angels do not call to me from heaven. But as I look closer, I see that this is not a world of reason. This is a world where everyone is blind. A world full of blind people? It must be a dream. It is a dream! How can I tell? I cannot open my eyes to search for the key.

Twilight, in a world of blind people. Surely this is a dream. Yet everyone I know tells me I am crazy. “This is not a dream,” they say; “I know I am awake.” But me, I cannot open my eyes. I cannot make any sense of this. I, the blind man, can see more than the open-eyed. Please do not think me arrogant, oh, reader. It’s merely that, I at least, know that I cannot yet open my eyes.

Twilight and I am searching ardently throughout my blindness. I wonder if this is morning. Is it time to wake up? Then I wonder, “if I find the key, will it open the gates? If I open the gates to pass beyond matter, will that be a true waking up? If it is a true waking up, does it mean I have died?” This does not worry me. Often I have dreamed of dying, and then woken up.

Nite, completed

What follows is a completed version of the poem Nite, the first part of which I published on this blog on 3/24/08. The poem is part of a series entitled Lanskaeps in Aengziyettee (see 12/30/07) which is itself embedded in a book-length work in progress entitled The Pardaes Dokkumen.

The idea around which the poem is built is described briefly in my posting on 3/24. To follow up on that explanation, each line in Nite is refrained with an echoing line that was composed based on similarity of sound. So for example, the poem begins, “Yu will see Messiya kum.” This line is echoed in the following, refraining line, “Yu see, deziyer kumz.” The whole poem is structured that way (with the exception of the voice of Rabbi Akiva just before the end). So, you can see that there are really two poems here, conjoined not by theme, or image, or even style, but by a common “ur-sound.” It is as if I sat with my ear to a wall trying to hear a conversation in the adjoining room. Following the poem are some further notes on the process of its composition, and how it reflects my understanding of the nature of consciousness.

Nite, in 2 Howzez
(3rd layering, completed 4/15/08 // 9 Nisan 5768)

Yu will see Messiya kum
                    Yu see, deziyer kumz
An hiz armee, chieldlike,
                    All disarmen, all mieldlike
Tu be slotter on the plaenz
                    Plotting withowt planz
But all thaer hope iz still undeferd.
                    And all yur hoeps so still, inferd.

Nite iz kum with its kaerz all brooden.
                    Wut mite kum frum such a kaerless moodenz?
The perpel figz ar skatterz on the pathez
                    Perpel fewgz, skawlding, empathek
Over-ripe. The waggen weelz krush them
                    Over-rot with aggonee and blushez.
And he hu iz keeper the orcherd
                    The seekerz ov luv torcherd
Iz looz pride and proffet allike:
                    With lawz and liez and powetree, allike.
Taengellen branchen in wont ov hevvee pruningz.
                    Taengeld embrasez with a hevvenlee prommis.

Moist wallz ov shale so lustrus az kwortz,
                    Immerst, waren shawlz in selesteyel korts,
Theze long an eregguler hallz ov Pardaes.
                    The long enrapcherren kallz ov Pardaes.
Beyond the sferen ov moon and sun;
                    Bownd tu the serf, its moodee song;
Beyond this ribben ov mezher an set;
                    Bownd by a ribbeld an mezmarek kwest;
Beyond the sensen ov konshents and thot.
                    Bownd in the tenshen ov kawshes and swov.
Limmitless nuthinglee shaepless nite.
                    Subliminnel utterlee eskaepless life.

          Akeva taeks hart. "This iz the forres
          "Ware the trael tu messiya muss be fownd.
          "I will not sees till I breeng Hem tu don,
          "And leed the pepel tu a Pardaes beyon."

Messiya weeps at the length ov nite.
                    Deziyer streekt with the angst ov life.


To compose a poem like this is particularly slow going. It is like solving a set of simultaneous equations without calculus. One must substitute one value after another for each variable until an approximate and acceptable solution is found. In this case the variables are the "ur-sounds" and the values are words. You can therefore read the poem two ways. You can read the left-justified lines as a single entity, and then read the indented, refraining lines as a second, distinct poem. Or you can read a line and its refrain, with the purpose of capturing the phonetic interconnections between them.

In my comments before the poem I said, "It is as if I sat with my ear to a wall..." With this image I am simply expressing the commonly held view that language emerges from a deeper, universal knowing. Indeed, this is precisely what our consciousness does: dimly hears and translates a transcendental Voice. When I say "transcendental," what I mean is, "of a higher dimensionality," or in 19th century language, "eternal and infinite." And if this is the essence of consciousness, as I believe it is, our being is purely an echo of that Being.

In sum, the poem attempts to express two things. Most obviously, it tells two concurrent narratives that are phonetically intertwined. However, it also emulates the process by which our consciousness emerges from the liminal threshold of the Divine.

Prophetic Hearing: Nite

Continuing from my post on Feb. 18, “Further Literary Notes,” and the next one on March 19, “A Memorable Fancy,” this post gives an example of building up a poem in multiple layers. It is entitled Nite, and is the fourth in the series “Lanskaeps in Aengziyettee.” It is written in a series of layers, each layer based, not on a constant conceptual substrate, but rather on sound.

Normally we think that a poem’s message is based on one or more (related?) ideas, or built up from images and events, or perhaps even constructed out of rhythm and meter. Normally we don’t think that a poem’s foundation is a body of abstract sounds that we must translate into our known language. Nite works from this latter premise. I have extracted a Divine Melody from the downpouring of my mind, “sounds” that precede words. Have I heard “Messiya kumz” or “Deziyer kums?” I have heard both, and more, and here is what I have extracted from that melodiousness.

Nite: 1st layer

"Yu will see Messiya kum
"An hiz armee a bilderz
"Tu be slotter on the plaenz.
"But all thaer hope iz still uninterrd."

Nite iz kum with its kallus moon.
The perpel figs ar skatterz on the grownd,
Over-ripe. The waggen weelz griend them down,
And he hu iz keeper the orcherd
Iz looz proffet and perpes allike:
     Taengellen branchen in wont ov hevvee pruningz.

Like a wall of shale; like a sheet of slate.
Theze long and eregguler Pardaes hallz.
Beyond the sferen ov moon and sun,
Beyond this ribben ov mezhermen, tuch,
Beyond the sensen ov thot and konshents.
Limmitless nuthinglee shaepless nite.

Akeva taeks hart. "This iz the forres
     "Ware the trael tu Messiya must be fownd.
     "I will not sees till I breeng Him tu don,
     "And leed the pepel tu a Pardaes beyond.

A wall ov shale. The borderz ov nite.


Nite: 2nd layer (incomplete)

Deziyer kumz
With disarmen mieldness,
Plotting withowt planz
And all yur hoeps so still, inferd.

Wut mite kum frum such a kaerless mooding?
Perpel fewgz, dissembel ov sownd.
Outlienz: aggonnee deeplee engraend;
The seekerz ov luv torcherd
With lawz and liez and powetree;
     Taengeld embrasez with a hevvenlee prommis.