There is no counterpoint to consciousness,
'Les consciousness of consciousness conceived;
There is no counterpoint to consciousness,
'Les consciousness of consciousness perceived;
No christ of antichrist derided;
No love of hate was 'er forsworn;
Not if for lack of time forever was decided;
Nor ever was reality so torn
Between what is and what is not believed,
Or what is now and what will ever be,
Becoming from these gods so ill conceived
Forgetful of the timing of the sea -
So hold your pain well nourished up to we
Who will gladly show you ought if being free.
VII
Gather ye flowers while ye may;
Reap loyal loving returns from where
Monumental airs design the day,
Sweet inspiration chiefly taking them from there
That gather in the name of grief,
Borne aloft perennial powers,
And toast jocund their christed chief
And drink of melancholy showers -
To our health and to this day
Which shines with every day before -
Self same with night's illumined way;
Sweet chambers whisping 'ever more' -
Ay, that ground will need a turning
If every sky we clouds be learning.
VIII
The seasons work and so do we,
Pledging fate to destiny;
Tiresome though it beckons all
With time less spent than saved,
With the peopled magic lands of Fall,
Our Summer cities paved,
Divine the land where leads this ronde,
No bough nor snowflake wiser,
And find ol' body's magic wand;
Our crystal lust no miser.
Betwixt two wills to one another
Tasting of the blessed brine
From the Father of no holy Mother
But stars incant our blessed shine.
IX
There are times when I look at a tree
And chant that life is proof of life;
Were there no symbol such as me
Waving symbols through the strife
Of moments that canno bear to end
Breathing life to each new day,
And finding there's no better friend
Than meeting love along the way,
Chanting love is life eternal,
For the only end in sight,
For the magic beauty rife supernal;
Breathlessness of heavenly night
Birthing each new star in ways
That take my breath from countless days.
X
I saw three stars exploding
In my childhood fantasy;
Saw my father grim, foreboding,
Guilty of his self and she,
Angry at her self and drinking;
Exploding at themselves by way
Re-cycled old distorted thinking,
Leading children by decay;
Each praying that some end might be
And they themselves reborn;
Each thinking that rude star was me
And they from love were shorn.
And I that ruddy star, fallen, cold and dead,
Pretending I from nothing born for nothing warmed and fed.