If all the people who have vanished without a trace
Could tell a story of a glory and a grace,
Then I would not fear time might void my place.
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The ancient Allness is of dissimilar similarities;
A conversant harmony of common rarities;
A palisades of feeble flowers and potent powers paired in polarities.
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The end lies in the eggshell of the beginning;
The last thin thread and the strand first spun, are one the fates are spinning;
And virtues vast are secretly the substance of all shameless sinning.
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The darkness is the gem that generates the light;
The day is given birth by sunless night;
The wrong is the womb that rules the right.
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Fear is the flower that forms courage for its fruit;
Weeping weaves the fingers that play on laughter for a flute;
The cards have different faces--but there's just one suit.
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Life is the light that springs from dark and dust;
Love is the king and queen that live by grace of lust;
And liars get their power from the speaking of those true to trust.
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Pain is the polar paramour of pleasure;
Poverty is the parent of all princely treasure;
Madness makes a meaning and a means for a sane man's measure.
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Chronos creates, and then destroys, the seconds of the sons of Seth;
And the fast-beating heart is of lovers who make love, and of the dying person's breath;
And life is like a Phoenix-dove that rises from the depth of death.

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Written by Michael LP
Copyright (C) 2012 by Michael LP.  All rights reserved
(Copyrighted for my estate)