The Key

In the dawn light

On a black beach

waiting the white

of the eye of the Sun,

I seek the sparse

sprawl of the tundra;

mind of my multiple Self.

Waiting for the hand over hand

Thought of their wanting

Cease

And the chains stop a jingling.

What of them?

They still the seed of Cain

A-sweeping the road away

from Damascus?

The people’s sleeping minds

stretch to my throat and mouth

All as one seeking to imbue me

With the stuff of darkness.

Our Father – their pitying cry

Would communise I

Comes crooning to me

From land

Out of the sea.

But I have the Key

It lies in the bank

of the physical state

‘Neath the lesser

More hallowed emotions

commencing their God.

Lies ugly cripple

Disguised

by the welter of silk bright parable

Magnet of adoration.

Yet I listen

They remind me

the stretch of my hand

Is radii sweeping

Both Earth and the Aether

Our Father

and the androgynous Sons of Light.