SiStan ChapLee

Sunday, May 13, 2018

The 7 Days of CryAction 7: 1051 to the end

Not only master minds
(the angels, clearly)
exalted the Most High,
the sky itself praised Him
and the firmament waters
with synthetic sounds;
the sun and the stars
and satellites entered
and concomitant clouds;
[1060] snow, frost followed
together with thunderbolts
and light and night
set his Name to music,
sky shrines re-echoed
and shadows resounded.
The exhilarated Earth
praised Jehovah joyfully
accompanied by mountains
and viridescent hills
[1070] while seas whispered
with springs and rivers
the ascension of HaShem
and flying birds and fish
and lambs and wolves
applauded Ho Agathos.
Priests would praise Him
later in the temples in
synchrony with the souls
in this life and afterlife
[1080] so that a triple plane
glares with his glory. . . . . . . . .
but poor Tasso is tired
and the Globe grows old
after so many millenniums
and asks for apocalypse:
D├ęspota kai Pater mou
who made me from nihil
unbelievably beautiful
and safe after all floods
[1090] I am ephemeral
and will finally fall but
Negentropy meantime
supports me in my turns
round speculative points.
In spite of scores of Ages
I still feel like a lad
I did not lose my frills
not even one brilliant
but far away from You
[1100] I would wind up.
I love You sufficiently
and seek You inside me
and long for revelation.
Many times I mourn You
thick like rainmy fault!
and by singing I sanctify
myself lest You may
reject your cosmic icon
your sealed simulacrum.
[1110] I observe outside:
Where have You hidden?
Who stole my sole Lord?
Without You I am nothing
hope nothing tweet nothing
for everything is nothing
if devoid of your voice.
I bounce beyond myself
to meet You my mate
I languish for love
[1120] and if fire finishes
me, your love will make
me still more luminous
not consumed by circling.
Let this older and older
world rest in eternity, no
more a swiveling temple
but granitic Glory”
the universe says.
Let us listen to its Psalm
[1130] and worship and weep.

The End

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