1He stirred the pot of stagnation,
only to write for writing's sake,
for these past days he couldn't take,
nay, neither now have verse to make,
nor mind to warrant creation.
2He clutched his pen until the break,
of morning each night sleep came not,
seeking the words that there were caught,
before he saw which came and sought,
the life offered in his hand's wake.
3Twopence nor a farthing had brought,
comfort to a poor stomach's goal,
and in like cases of the soul,
no thoughts of few or of the whole,
could heal the recluse so self-taught.
4This lonely living gave control,
it gave stability to fight,
against the sickened world of blight,
commanding his presence despite,
his wish to have there no more role.
5He savored the silence of night;
in pristine webs the onyx streak,
of shadows wrapping round the peak,
of his perception gave oblique,
insights to wrongs of living's right.
6No way to put it down nor speak,
his thoughts unto none but the spread,
of the night's ever passing stead;
he left them there dying and read,
that which was written with mystique.
7There he knew not the meaning bred,
he found it void in every way,
of any sense through the array,
of the verse he could convey,
but found an open door instead.
8Through the door entered he astray,
and found beyond the written door,
things he could grasp but not before,
the last bit of sanity tore,
away behind to his dismay.
9'Round the shapeless shadows galore,
was fear incarnate as was hate;
beneath their rigid pulsing weight,
was love herself lying prostrate,
in pure rapture, she begged for more.
10He knew damnation was his state,
but he could not conjure retreat,
for captivity held complete,
his perception caught by deceit,
of his own betraying ill-fate.
11His transport there was so concrete,
that when he closed his eyes to find,
passage back through the way behind,
he saw a countenance aligned,
glaring through his conscious defeat.
12That face embodied every kind,
of possible diablerie,
it brought terror in a fury,
that made him unleash a dreary,
shriek and open his eyes resigned.
13His will's deport was a flurry,
leaving him in helpless posture,
to weather infernal torture,
and beg for timely departure,
from this nightmare in a hurry.
14Finally there from the nature,
of all existence in its stayed,
conviction against all that's made,
to bear constancy, came the aid,
he begged for in his capture.
15In change, eternity obeyed,
after its breadth had seen the bound,
of the course persisting around,
our own recluse who then had found,
the shroud of pain begin to fade.
16A glowing began to surround,
that felt to him like velvet smoke,
and there from which seemed to invoke,
an ecstasy which nearly broke,
his mind like the past realm now drowned.
17From the midst around him there spoke,
the origin clearly blurring,
a great angelic murmuring,
which had the effect of curing,
his forlornness with one deft stroke.
18As our recluse was deferring,
from questioning and therewithal,
second guessing how real it all,
truly was; there came with silken shawl,
an angel, as if by luring.
19Our recluse could not help but fall,
to his knees as she upon he,
bestowed a kiss of the degree,
which in the past pained him to see,
shared by lovers beyond his wall.
20His heart burned with such agony,
that the tears wept came without end,
until she knelt with the amend,
of her searing touch to resend,
that lightning to his heart now free.
21Exotic heights he did ascend,
for never had he felt before,
the ranges his heart could explore,
through the great relentless outpore,
of love to her, he could extend.
22He asked if this was heaven's shore,
was this real or no more than dream,
could it be less than it would seem,
like a magician's wicked scheme;
swift answer then the question bore.
23Wading through light with eyes agleam,
she gave the answer quite refined,
rejecting the theories assigned,
as it was explained that his mind,
had been damaged in the extreme.
24It was ironic how her kind,
molodic voice explained his doom,
telling him his mind was the womb,
of a monster which would consume,
the last bit of self he enshrined.
25It would only do to assume,
that if he was in fact insane,
that the angel here could retain,
no more realness than such a plane,
of existence in a vacuum.
26If her existence was inane,
her opinion of matters would,
have no merit; he said and stood,
disparaging then her falsehood,
though no less lost in this domain.
27Her derisive rejoinder could,
for his sake, have been more concise,
but he weathered through to suffice,
the existentialist advice,
which came like a tsunami should.
28Her long discourse came with the price,
of his unwavering regard,
and though his focus never marred,
he found his very being jarred,
for what she argued could entice.
29Her every word seemed to discard,
prior notions for the recluse,
of the concepts he felt were truths,
'til left barren with no excuse,
but ignorance as his reward.
30The fateful view that could induce,
the complete nescience of his throes,
spoken with such eloquent flows,
is beyond my skill to transpose,
without imperfection's abuse.
31My best account of it follows:
To be continued...
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