Salvation shall be found in my fall
When I am cast down from dogmatic heights
I will fall toward the phalanxes of Love
And its upward-pointed piercing spears
Into the arms and caresses of the inner shining light
That dwells deep within the earthen mould
The mould of ash and gold, of flesh and stardust
A dweller in darkness become, to prise wide eyes
Seeking Promethean flame in the ice-plains of the South
Wanderer, the wanderer in the night, bringer of light
Forsaking self to rebuild atom by atom the self
Or perhaps to grow and to evolve and to form
The residual echoes of a long-muffled song
Will be symphony once more, and down on the floor
I gaze upon the vault of the celestial sphere
And ready my throbbing, outstretched pinions
To ascend as unshackled son, son of the sun
Ex Tempore LXXXVI
M.M. — 07-Sep-2014
