You're withdrawing from me, you hour.
The beating of your wings leaves me bruised.
Alone: what shall I do with my mouth?
with my night? with my day?

I have no loved one, no house,
no place to lead a life.
All the things to which I give myself
grow rich and spend me.

- Rainer Maria Rilke -

A poem by Aleister Crowley, published in Konx om Pax as part of the story "The Stone of the Philosophers".

The Poet

Bury me in a nameless grave!
I came from God the world to save.
I brought them wisdom from above:
Worship, and liberty, and love.
They slew me for I did disparage
Therefore Religion, Law, and Marriage.
So be my grave without a name
That earth may swallow up my shame!

I wrote this poem some months ago, and of all the poems I've written, this one strikes me as my favorite. It was influenced heavily by W.B. Yeats, and Samuel Taylor Coleridge's 'Rime of the Ancient Mariner'

The Poet

There once lived a poet in Galway,
Who looked at life and sighed,
"What makes this, and what makes that?
He asked himself aside.

"Life and death are both but one,
So hearts entwined doth say,
But that I would have this life,
Than face death any day."

So the poet thought to travel
Every where around the globe,
And hopefully chance 'pon the answer,
To the question yet unposed.

And so the poet came on a priest,
Who lived in Acràgas,
"What ails you?" Did ask the priest,
And took sip from his flask;

"Who dreams the dreams of yesteryear?"
The poet asked and sighed.
"I know men's dreams too well enough,
To know they dreamed and died.

So the poet continued on his search,
Until he saw a house,
And in it sat a midwife,
With a midwife's skirt and blouse.

"Birth and rebirth you have seen,
Perhaps you can answer me,
Why does a baby know how to cry,
But not know how to fear ye?"

At this the midwife gave a laugh,
And cracked a secret smile,
"Your answers do beyond me lie,
But not by measure of mile."

And so the poet carried on,
Trying to find the answer,
But all he found were empty houses,
And streetrats full of cancer.

So he sat down upon the road,
To cry til he was dead,
If not but then a beam of light
Came down upon his head;

And a voice from out the Heavens rang,
As clarion as a bell,
"Your questions doth make heaven out
Of things that are but hell.

"But I shall you treat answer now,
Of the question which you seek,
For I am Allah, God of Gods,
King of all who Speak.

"The dreams men dreamed of yesteryear,
Were the same you dream today;
Past and present doth combine,
And in it future lay

"A baby cries when it is born,
Because it has to die,
But it cannot hold its mortal fear,
Against the Fate's cold Eye.

"The meaning of this life you seek,
Is but to suffer death,
And be with golden Rhadamanthos',
At the World's last breath.

"And there you'll see a host assembled,
Many leagues shall it comprise,
The hero, victor, warrior,
Will unfold before your eyes.

"But see you not the priestly men,
They live what life is not,
For you have but one of them,
And those men let it rot.

"So answer now shall I make you,
And answer you shall have,
Be happy and dance merrily,
And you'll never be sad.

"For he who dances merilly,
Most surely is not sad,
And what is life but happiness?
And so in life be glad."

And so the poet went back home,
And spread his joy like waves,
Which all have now crashed on the shore,
And seen their pretty days.

But still in Galway they speak of him,
The poet of the gods,
And up in Heaven he is now,
Dancing to the songs.

And so the moral of this story,
I shall lay it to you plain,
If ever you are sad in life,
Know ere happiness comes rain

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