The Voice of Thelema

These green stained lips that proclaim Law announce another wonder
To an incidental audience that gather at the bar.
Another dose of poison poured, another emerald death
A sinister perversion: I am not as other men.
I foreswear the dreadful dactyl and substitute «that is»
Assuming now this inner-self, I swiftly change the mask.
The eloquence of angels with the honeyed tongue of sin
Doth drive these passions to the fore — the force that lies within.
Myriad martyrdoms playing against backdrops of carnality
A stage-managed lifestyle in the Theatre of Absurd
Parading to a vacant gilded gallery.
The voice that once invoked dark goddesses now resounds unheard.
The priapistic plagiarist who writes upon ruled lines
And quails as fragile empires burn, he signs a deal with Peace.
Vile rumour flies around the rotten carcass of golden glory days
Impotent as interest fades and sales of Gospels cease.
Silence the tongue of the Father, I will endure to the end.
Driven into exile, and now the beggar at the feast
White stains upon the parchment pure, proclaim myself «The Beast»
The crystals spread before me as I read the self-penned prayer
Vengeance only breathes thy name, the watchword of Despair.
Then it came — and by the swaying flame, granted the sight,
The power, the glory and light:
Golden, these words, the sweet voice of Thelema
Drawing me in, taking my hand.
I am the One, I am the oracle — I am the wisdom, I am the light
Love under Will, shall be the only way
Join me now in Thelema, The Garden of Delight.
«But be aware, that every joy has a price
Give unto me, mind and body, through black oaths uttered thrice.»
Knew not I the fatal lure of her angelic voice
A ghostly echo in my ears as if from heaven sent
To whisper in the heat of day, of bluest skies and rolling sands
And not the grime of London, grey beneath the firmament.
In half-lit smoky chambers I ingest her icy balm.
Nocturne’s baleful revelry, now witness to her avatar:
But it was not to be, and now I cast the fatal dice
The frost-fire pulses in my veins, sweet ecstasies like ice.
This horror of great darkness. I am come to attain the light.
To gain my voice I make as dumb, and close the outer sight:
Oh, Thelema, I feel the Spring, the all-devouring Dawn.